Brothers in War
by chainsaw0714
Summary: A family; fighting a war they fear they cannot win. Their enemies have them locked in a bloody stalemate. They're torn and tired, but still together, hanging on to the only hope they have: each other. But when the enemy takes one of their own, will they fight to band together and save him? Or will the team be split apart?
1. Chapter 1

**AN: Whew! Okay, I teased this story a little last month and got a great response (even though this is actually nothing like my teaser), so I'm buckling down and committing to writing it. Hope you guys enjoy chapter one!**

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No.

No. This couldn't be happening. They had _won._ This couldn't be how the story ended. Why was nothing ever simple? Rorke was supposed to be _dead._

Logan twisted in the dirt and reached for Hesh with his good arm. He was only a few feet away, but it felt like miles separated them. The elder watched in horror as his little brother slipped through his fingers. Hesh stretched, willing his arm to grow longer, but to no avail.

"Logan." His voice came out as a hoarse croak, owing to the water that was probably still lodged in his lungs. Overextending himself, he fell on his bullet wounds. Inhaling sharply, he looked up desperately, only to see Logan being dragged further and further away.

"Logan!" He dragged himself forward and tried to ignore the pain, only to collapse after a couple feet. _Where does the man get his strength?_ Every inch Hesh gained, Rorke was another yard away. Logan, battered and only semiconscious, did the only thing he knew to do when he was helpless. He looked to his brother with a silent plea. He didn't have to talk, it was written in the lines of his face, even in the way he breathed. Panic. Dread. Terror. He was trying his best to control it, to stay strong, but Hesh saw right through the act.

"LOGAN!" Hesh screamed, as if the force of the shout alone could stop Rorke. Logan didn't call to him, but his eyes communicated more than his voice ever could. Hesh panicked. He was powerless to stop this. He couldn't save him.

_ Not yet. _The small voice came from the back of his mind. He wouldn't give up so easily. Though the panic gnawed at his senses and threatened to overwhelm him, he yelled to the receding pair of figures.

"I'll come for you, Logan! I'll find you, I promise!" His voice cracked and Hesh hung his head into the sand. "I'll save you." He whispered to the seashells. He couldn't face Logan, not when so much pain and fear was in his eyes. He had failed him. Shame and guilt encompassed him. Lying on his front, Hesh listened to Logan's screams of desperation and agony as Rorke struggled to drag him away.

Captor and captive faded from sight and hearing. Hesh's senses were shutting down, his head left reeling from confusion and blood loss. What had Rorke meant?

_"You woulda' been a helluva Ghost." _For many months, Hesh had hated the southern drawl and the man who owned it with every ounce of his being._ "But that's not gonna happen. There ain't gonna _be_ any Ghosts. We're gonna destroy 'em together." _He had been speaking to Logan, just after he had broken his arm and punched him in the jaw. Hesh and Logan both knew the story of how Gabriel Rorke, former captain of the Ghosts, had been captured and tortured to insanity by the Federation. They brainwashed him, and now used him as a tool for their own purposes.

That was why the last word out of Rorke's mouth scared Hesh the most: _"together."_ Their dad, Elias, had once said that if the Feds could turn Rorke against his comrades, then they could turn anyone. Hesh prayed it wasn't true. He closed his eyes, trying to shut out the pain and misery that sent his head spinning, but when he did, he saw Logan, forlorn and petrified, looking back at him as he was pulled away.

_I'm sorry Logan._ Hesh looked at the sky instead of the image seared into his mind's eye, but it followed his gaze like the afterimage left from staring at the sun.

Farther away, where the joint American force batted clean-up to push the Feds back from the desert facility kinetic missiles were still raining down from the sky, devastating the enemy, even as they retreated. In a way, it was a beautiful view. Destruction fell from the heavens, adding insult to injury by not only slaughtering the Federation forces, but completely annihilating them. There was no one left to resist. Somehow, the day was won, but still _so_ lost. A military victory, but a personal defeat. The paradox chased itself through Hesh's mind as he slipped from consciousness.

* * *

Logan fought and kicked for all he was worth. Adrenaline had washed away most of the pain in his shoulder and arm, but it wouldn't last for long. Even if he couldn't break free from the iron grip on his ankle, he made Rorke pay dearly for every inch of ground he gained, every inch that carried him farther from Hesh and rescue. He twisted himself around to kick at Rorke's arms and chest; anything he could reach, he struck.

He looked up again towards the beach. He had almost been dragged to the tree line, but he could clearly see Hesh's still form near the surf, his head hung in the dirt. He wouldn't look at him. Logan tried to tell himself that he couldn't, he was too weak. He _had_ been shot. Twice. Instead, a very different thought ran through his head.

_You selfish jerk! _Logan surprised even himself with the thought. As soon as the outburst occurred in his mind, he felt bad for it. But Hesh knew how much comfort Logan could draw from just simple eye contact with his brother. _Why won't he look up? Is he too weak? _He stared at where Hesh lay, wanting, willing him to move.

Logan clawed at the dirt with his good arm, desperately trying to stop Rorke's retreat. Panic rose. Not for the pain that was sure to come, but for the unmoving figure lying alone in the sand. With one great effort he managed to yell, one word, to call out to the still form of his brother.

"Hesh!" The cry came out garbled and smothered by his rusty and tired vocal cords. Hesh didn't move.

"DAVID!" Desperate now, for any reaction, Logan screamed for all he was worth. He _had_ to know. Hesh couldn't be dead. Not now, after all that they'd done. His brother's head remained still as death, but Logan was given a small glimmer of hope when he saw the miniscule rise and fall of his back. He was breathing. He would make it. Recon was on the way.

_Can they get here fast enough?_ No. Fast enough to save Hesh, yes.

But not Logan.

He then began to worry for his own life. He had heard the last words Hesh shouted across the beach, _"I'll come for you! …I'll find you, I promise!"_ He wanted to believe them. As much as he squirmed in Rorke's grip and fought against it, he knew it was a battle he could not win. He tried to convince himself that Hesh _would_ come. He'd promised, right? Hesh never broke his promises. He was _always_ there. Logan just had to remember that and he thought he could get through this.

He found himself wishing he had gone for the headshot. Twisting, Logan looked up at the man in whose grip he writhed. The man who he hated so much. It should have been simple. Kill Rorke. That was the only objective. They had agreed side effects and repercussions didn't matter so long as the man, more like demon, _died._ But, in the train car, under the ocean, he'd been given a choice, and Logan couldn't do it. The memory replayed itself in his head, accompanied by the thought,

_ Why couldn't I have just hit him where it counted? _He had snapped the chamber of the revolver shut as Hesh grappled with Rorke, seizing him in a headlock from behind. He wrestled the stronger man to stillness for Logan to take the shot. One bullet. One kill. One shot to end it all. Logan had taken aim at his enemy's head, but stopped as he came to a realization. The gun in his hand was a .44 Magnum. It packed enough punch to stop a charging bull; it would tear right through Rorke no matter where Logan hit him. He hesitated.

One second. Rorke's head was pinned against Hesh's chest. The bullet would go straight through his cranium and tear into Hesh's chest cavity, probably tumbling as it did. Logan would be signing his own brother's death warrant.

Two seconds. Hesh was yelling, panicked,

"Logan! Do it! Now!"He wouldn't be able to hold Rorke much longer. The stronger enemy groped with his free hand along the floor for his fallen blade. Even Hesh, Logan's invincible brother appeared slight and frail next to their enemy. The Fed was a literal juggernaut. Nothing seemed to slow him down. Under different circumstances, Logan would have respected him. But he was their enemy, and a formidable one.

In hindsight, he shouldn't have made the choice he had. Rorke couldn't be killed so easily; he wouldn't stoop so low.

Three seconds. Logan had adjusted his aim and pulled the trigger.

Immediately the struggling of both men stopped. The bullet flew true, right where Logan had sent it. It ripped open Rorke's center of mass, and tore through Hesh's abdomen before flying farther, cracking the window. Hesh and Rorke fell backwards, dead or unconscious. The glass behind them spider-webbed under the water pressure, each audible snap sending a twinge of dread through Logan's gut. He didn't know if he could get both himself and Hesh out of there. When the strain became too much, the window caved inwards, the force of the glass shards slicing at Logan's arms and face. Gulping one deep breath, he tumbled in the sudden torrent of water. He reoriented himself after the pressure equalized, taking a moment to find gravity. Then he grabbed Hesh and swam for all he was worth towards the surface.

His lungs screamed at him. His legs cramped and shut down in protest. Logan was consumed by one thought,

_The surface. Get Hesh to the surface._ Whipping his exhausted limbs into submission, he broke into the air an eternity later, coughing and sputtering. Dropping Hesh into the sand next to him, he fell hard onto his elbows and knees, gasping the precious oxygen into his lungs. Ridding himself of the briny taste of seawater, he looked to Hesh. Thankfully, he was coughing up water and breathing on his own.

Logan suddenly felt giddy, which was rather hard for a grown man to do. He couldn't help but smile as he crawled up the beach, towing Hesh along behind him. He felt liberated, as if a great weight was lifted from his shoulders. Rorke was dead. All the signs pointed to it. He had been beaten physically by Hesh, and then took a forty-four to the chest. Shock and blood loss alone would have finished him off. Then the window broke; he had most certainly drowned. They couldn't call it a confirmed kill, but it was the next best thing.

Propping Hesh up against the rocks, Logan had slumped down next to him, relaxing for what seemed like the first time in ages. He remembered a strange, untangling, untwisting feeling in his heart. He felt like whooping for joy, but settled on peeling his wet mask off his face and pushing it up on his head. Hesh slapped him weakly on the leg, a congratulation.

_Good job._ Of course, the words were said aloud. They bantered back and forth, almost like old times, though, Logan had never been much for talking anyway. He was just naturally quiet. He spoke now, mostly to keep Hesh awake. Logan worried over him like a mother hen. They had left a red trail through the sand from the edge of the water, but it was mostly Hesh's, and he was still losing blood. He checked him over completely, applying what limited combat aid he could. He had told Hesh to call in their success to help keep him awake. Even if his radio had survived the scuffle with Rorke, Merrick may not have even recognized Logan's voice over the radio. He used the thing that infrequently. Hesh reached up and toggled on his microphone.

"Merrick, come in." His voice was weak and breathy. "Merrick, do you copy?"It didn't take long to get a reply.

"Hesh? Hesh, is that you?" His relief was plainly evident over the soft crackle of the radio. It was a strange tone for him. Merrick seldom broke his cold, calculating mask of calm. Logan chuckled inwardly. It was a nice change from the aloof, imposing stoic he'd been when they first met him.

"Yeah. I'm with Logan. We're okay." Hesh's voice was still tinted by the pain, but the words came out stronger than when he first spoke. Logan watched him. What few movements he made still seemed strong and normal, so he didn't look like he was going into shock. That was a relief

"… and Rorke?" Despite his obvious relief, Merrick's hesitancy in this question was plain. It was like he was afraid to even ask, the man had slipped through their fingers so many times.

"Dead. He's dead." Hesh's voice had leveled out with these words, imbuing them with a decisive, hard edge. As if expressing the force of his emotion had exhausted him, he rested his head on the damp rock at his back. Merrick's voice sounded over the radio for a third time.

"Copy that. The Federation's in full retreat. The rest of the payload's inbound to finish the job. Sit tight. Recon's coming for you." Logan sighed contentedly and at last fully relaxed. He clapped Hesh on the shoulder, squeezing tightly to keep him awake. Hesh spoke.

"I'm proud of you… good job, bro." Logan smiled sadly. Hesh probably didn't realize how much he sounded like Dad. Logan had smacked him lightly on the leg and was about to speak when a noise to their right distracted him, like shoes scraping through the dirt. He wrenched his head to the right and it was met solidly with the sole of a combat boot. Recoiling, Logan grabbed his combat knife from its sheath on his thigh. He briefly wondered how he'd managed to hang on to it through all the fighting of earlier. Swinging the blade in an arc intended to connect with his opponent's knee cap, he found his arm caught, the blow countered. Rorke squeezed his wrist hard, pinching the nerves together and making him drop the blade. Then his arm was wrenched backwards as a simultaneous blow smashed his elbow forward, breaking all three bones in his arm and dislocating his shoulder. Logan had never known such agony existed.

Rorke then had monologued for a good minute, having the nerve to actually pay him a compliment before dragging him away.

Logan was snapped back to the present when Rorke kicked his right arm, sending signals of pain that overrode his brain's command to keep his grip on the young tree he'd managed to get a hold of. He ground his teeth to contain the scream. Hesh had once commented that he had an insanely high pain threshold.

_Well, maybe that will come in handy._ Rorke had only dragged hima short distance beyond the tree line when Logan heard it, a gorgeous noise. Rotor wash, slicing through the air in the most beautiful cacophony he'd ever heard. Rorke swore under his breath and picked up his pace as much as he could while pulling his struggling prisoner. The rotors grew steadily louder and Logan knew from the frequency of the engine that the bird was circling over the beach, searching for an LZ. Slowly, the rotors wound down, and the engine roar faded to a dull whine.

Logan took a deep breath, intending to shout as loud as he could. Before he could loose the yell, though, he was on his back, Rorke on top of him, forcing away his breath. One hand was over his mouth, the other poised above his arm, ready to turn it into a compound fracture instead of the less painful break it was now. The menacing look in the former Ghost's eyes conveyed only one message,

_"Don't even think about it."_ Then he hauled Logan to his feet, drew the knife that he'd taken from the younger man, and made him walk in front of him. In spite of the obvious threat, Logan emptied his lungs into the air, not even trying to form an intelligible cry. He only hoped that the sound would carry to the beach were his comrades were. This was his last hope.

Almost immediately Rorke seized him from behind and rammed his face into a tree, knocking him out.


	2. Chapter 2

**AN: And here is chapter two! Hm, I feel so accomplished. I wasn't going to publish this yet, but you have PhantomxWolf to thank for the encouragement. Enjoy!**

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The recon chopper landed on a level strip of beach not far from where Hesh lay. It was a Black Hawk, manned by an Air Force Pararescue crew, and Ghosts Kick and Neptune. Merrick, knowing how deadly Rorke could be, had anticipated injuries on the Walkers and had sent the combat medics with his recon team to retrieve them.

Filing out of the rotorwing, the team cleared the beach, then made their way over to the lone figure slumped amongst the rocks. The Ghosts paused, confused. There were _two _Walker boys. Where was the other? The two medics moved to secure the man lying in the sand, and Neptune signaled to Kick to sweep the area, searching for the second.

_No one gets left behind._ They began scouring the beach looking for their fallen comrade.

Hesh groaned when the medics rolled him over, in an effort to get a good look at his injuries. His uniform was rent and bloodied. The medics quickly unstrapped his combat vest, cut away his shirt, and began examining the two gunshot wounds. They were fairly close together, both on the lower left side of his abdomen, and had blown clear through his body.

"Two bullet wounds, large caliber. Probably a forty-five." The first medic began triaging his patient. He checked his pulse, which was weak, but still there. The second medic started an IV drip.

"Nah, look at the exit wounds. I'd say a forty-four magnum." Picking up the injured soldier, they moved him back to the Black Hawk. Hesh wasn't conscious and unknowingly grunted with the strain on his abs. "We've got to get him out of here. He's lost too much blood." The medic looked down the beach to where the two Ghosts were still scanning the area for their second teammate. They seemed to be interested in something on the ground because they kept pointing at it and walked up to the tree line. He keyed his mike and gave them an update,

"Your boy's in real bad shape. We need to hurry it up here." Neptune gave them a quick acknowledgement before turning his attention back to the dilemma at hand.

"What are we going to do?" Kick asked Neptune. "We can't just leave him." His voice came out strained with emotion. He hadn't known the Walker boy for very long, but they had become fast friends in the wake of Las Vegas. Common experience, he guessed. Kick stared, fixated on the drag marks that continued into the jungle. Crimson dye interspersed the tiny hills and valleys that spoke of a struggle.

"Yeah, but if we follow the tracks it could be suicide. It's obvious that the Feds did this. We don't know what they might have up their sleeves. I'm going to call it in." Neptune reached up and tuned his radio to Merrick's frequency. "Merrick, you copy?"

"Go, Neptune." Merrick's voice crackled over the radio.

"We're at the coordinates you gave us and we've recovered Hesh, but Logan is missing." Neptune took a breath to let the older Ghost absorb that information before continuing. Despite his calculating, cynical personality, Merrick cared deeply for every member of his team. Unfortunately it had taken years of calling him a 'selfish dick' before Neptune had finally figured that out. The news would be rough on him. "Tracks on the beach suggest that Feds came and dragged him into the jungle, but for some reason left Hesh behind. We could follow them..." He trailed off and a long, weighted silence followed, the unspoken request hanging in the radio waves. Neptune didn't blame his CO. The decision to leave a man behind couldn't be taken lightly, but if Neptune's assessment was correct, following the tracks would lead to two men against a force of unknown size, trying to rescue their comrade that they didn't even know if he was alive or not. It was too risky. The Ghosts hadn't become the world's most elite fighting force by being stupid. Merrick would never allow it.

Yet, Neptune couldn't bring himself to reconcile those facts in his brain. It all added up, but it was so against his nature and training to leave a man behind. People at home, the civilians, think that soldiers fight for pride and country and all that crap. For some, maybe it's true, but Neptune knew better. In the field only three things exist: you, your enemy, and your brother beside you. Your brother has your six and you cover his back. All that matters is getting out alive. Failing in that objective is the worst act a soldier can commit.

Nevertheless, Kick and Neptune knew what Merrick would say, and were already bracing themselves for it. When the order came, his voice was strangely cold and emotionless. Sometimes it was easier to pretend you just didn't care.

"Negative, Neptune. You'd be going in blind. We have no intel on that AO. It's too dangerous. Pull back and evac Hesh. He can tell us more about what happened. Fall back to the Adamant."

Simply out of spite, Neptune let the silence draw out to an accusatory length before giving his acknowledgement.

"Copy that, sir. Recon team is moving to evac." He clicked off the radio and gestured to Kick, who just stared at him blankly before moving, gobsmacked that they were even following the order. Like it or not, they were retreating. Even still, it took every bit of his willpower not to send the chopper back without them and search the jungle for his fallen friend. Logan would be reported MIA or POW when the team got back to base. Neptune couldn't shake the feeling that by turning around, they were signing his death certificate. He tried to shake off the shivers that ran down his spine and boarded the chopper, followed closely by Kick. The medics looked up expectantly. Having patched up Hesh as best they could, they were waiting for the other Ghost to be brought in. Neptune just shook his head, then commanded the pilots to RTB.

"How is he?" Kick asked the medics. Hesh looked pale and drained. From what little medical knowledge he had, he gathered that there was very little the medics could do right now. Blood loss and a concussion weren't things you could easily treat in a speeding Black Hawk.

"He's far from stable. He has two gunshot wounds that we can see, a probable concussion and cracked ribs, and we think he's becoming hypothermic. The most we can do right now is try to stop the bleeding and keep him comfortable. He might make it." The PJ's reply was brutally honest, but Kick appreciated the lack of sugar-coating. Hesh was tough; the kid would pull through, but he would be a hell of a headache whenever he came 'round again.

As the rotors spun up, kicking up more dust and noise, Kick tilted his head; he thought he heard something feral carried on the jungle breeze. It could've been a yell, inhuman and twisted; a cry fueled by pain and terror. He couldn't be sure. The sound twisted his stomach, and as the chopper lifted off, Kick shook his head to clear it.

They were soon airborne, turning slightly into the wind and heading west towards the command carrier. Kick and Neptune manned the gunner positions on either side of the aircraft, but were relaxed. The Feds couldn't give them any trouble now, even if they wanted to. Neptune's muscles screamed at him to stay and search until he found Logan. A sinking feeling grew in his gut and his instincts told him that he wouldn't be seeing the younger man again, at least not while whole and sane.


	3. Chapter 3

**AN: Okay, here's a nice long chapter for you guys before I turn in. Again, please enjoy, and to anyone wanting to review, know that criticism is just as welcome as praise here, so please drop a note on anything I can improve. Thanks!**

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"Three, two, one!"

_CRASH!_ Hesh breached the door.

Logan rushed in quickly to catch the Feds while they were off guard. Hesh heard gunfire. Men shouting in Spanish. Logan downed the two Feds closest to the door – one thought he would try for a lunging sweep with his knife. He got two bullets in the head for his trouble.

_Oh, crap._ Hesh saw a man with an RPG pop out of cover on the far end of the engine car, aiming straight at the two invaders. He thought they were dead then and there, but Hesh thanked his stars for Logan's phenomenal reflexes – not for the first time. Three cracks sounded from the muzzle of his weapon and red stained the front of the Fed's uniform. Unfortunately, the man had already pulled the trigger. The whoosh of the RPG was followed closely by a BOOM and CLANG as the engine exploded.

_Shit, shit!_

"The engine's hit! Hold on!" Hesh shouted out to Logan. The train car slowed forcefully and suddenly, the failsafe for the engine triggering the emergency brake. The two soldiers' inertia sent them careening forward in an uncontrolled skid across the floor, and straight into the foremost car.

They burst through the door, still sliding. Hesh spotted Rorke on the right side, but his momentum carried him forward into a group of three Feds in the front of the car. He adjusted his position and braced his feet against the console as he hit it, levering himself upwards and delivering a punch to a man's face before reaching for his knife and finishing him. To his right and rear, Logan had done the same thing and pinned Rorke, using the enemy's own revolver to dispatch the other two lackeys in the car. Having lost his primary, Hesh drew out his sidearm, covering Rorke while Logan fought with him.

Next thing he knew, Rorke lurched up and head-butted Logan, using the sudden halting of the train to lever himself forwards. He used the half-second Logan was dazed to place him firmly in a choking headlock. Seizing his gun back, he spun around, and pressed the Magnum to the younger man's forehead.

"Drop it! Now!" Rorke yelled, digging the barrel into Logan's temple, showing that he wasn't afraid to shoot. Hesh wavered, fighting with his faltering determination. No, he knew what he had to do.

Kill Rorke. End it. End it for everyone. His resolve wavered. Even in light of the pact he and Logan made before this mission, Hesh paused. Rorke wasn't stupid; and he was an experienced gunman. He would be able to tell, just by watching Hesh's hands; if he so much as twitched his trigger finger, Logan was as good as dead.

But he had made a promise. Before the mission even began. In the chopper before they infiltrated the Fed control station, he and Logan had agreed that nothing could come between them and Rorke. They wouldn't let the sun set if the man wasn't dead. No matter what happened, he would not get away this time. Hesh glanced at Logan, who was twisting and struggling in a vain effort to free himself from the death grip and get some air. He was looking back up at him. All attempts at speech cut off, his eyes screamed _"Do it!"_

He couldn't. Defeated, Hesh threw his weapon aside.

"You can't win, Rorke! It's over!" He tried reasoning.

Hesh gasped as his attempt was rewarded with a bullet. It ripped through his stomach, and he grunted when Rorke kicked him backwards onto the control panel, putting the gun to his head. He focused all his energies on saying one final word; the panic word for if every other plan backfired.

"Checkmate." He graveled out through the pain.

"Checkmate confirmed." Merrick's voice sounded quietly in his ear, and he allowed a small smile to creep onto his face. Let Rorke wonder what it means.

"What was that? What did you do?!" Rorke backed away, still trapping Logan in the choking headlock. The younger brother was starting to slip. He needed oxygen.

Rorke didn't have to wonder for long. He could clearly see the kinetic missiles streaking to earth, right in front of them.

"You lost, Rorke. It's over." Hesh's voice was breathy and weak, but his statement was confirmed when the impact of the missiles reverberated along the tracks, shredding the tracks in front of them. A gaping hole stared out of the cliffside ahead. They could all see the additional missiles, coming in closer and closer as the angel of death who was pulling the trigger dialed in his aim.

For once, Rorke was utterly astonished. It could be seen in his face, along with something else. Perhaps it was respect for the tenacity with which the two young men had committed themselves to their mission. He lowered the forty-four, and took a small step backwards, watching their doom approach.

"Aw, shit, son…" Rorke shook his head almost imperceptibly, stunned. Hesh looked at Logan, who was wriggling out of Rorke's now loosened grip, sucking in precious air. He tried to convey all his emotions through his eyes, but mostly he gave his brother a silent apology. He knew they had both agreed to it, but he was still shocked that their task of killing Rorke had led them to such desperate measures.

Then the cabin was rocked, and flew off the tracks. The train cars twisted and gyrated so much during their fall that gravity became meaningless. The three were suspended in the air, the ocean rapidly approaching. Hesh reached for Logan. If they were about to die, they would die together. Just before their hands connected, the car hit the water and they were thrown apart. Hesh blacked out. He briefly felt like he was falling through emptiness where space-time didn't matter. The world spun.

He was next aware of light piercing through his eyelids, spots like starlight negatives danced on his vision; his head felt like a brain-freeze had taken up residence, pounding with every heartbeat. Lying on his back, he looked up at shades of blue; he was drowning in it. Everything was distorted around him, the sky blending in a muddled mass with the clouds and wreckage. Hesh didn't know where he was. His lungs were screaming for air, filled with some pervasive substance. Chest heaving, he spewed out the thick brine, salt and mucus feeling like Jell-o as it surged out of his throat and ran down his face. He lay there, gasping, for he knew not how long.

After a time, Hesh felt a weight on his chest and movement beneath him. Still coughing up water, he clasped the hand hooked through his combat vest, making it his lifeline to reality. Logan was pulling him up the beach. Dragging him a good distance from the waterline, he positioned him against the smooth, sand-blasted rocks. He didn't move his head, but it was tilting side to side. Logan's low, graveled voice wafted through the hazy mess that was Hesh's consciousness. At first unintelligible, the words slowly sharpened as Hesh focused and pulled himself back to awareness.

"Come on, wake up sleeping beauty. Nap's over." Logan was saying. Irritated, Hesh tried to move, but found at the moment his middle finger could only twitch. He heard the tone of voice, though; the accent of concern there was hard to miss. His head was released and it lolled down onto his chest. He felt pressure in his stomach. Where had his strength gone?

"Hey! Come on, look at me." Hesh was trying but his limbs had turned to stone.

"David Joshua Walker, don't you dare go to sleep." A warning tone played around Logan's voice that made Hesh want to say, "Yes, mother." It felt like it took all of his energy to lift his head, but when he did, a relieved, "There you go, man," came from somewhere above and next to him. His eyes opened and met Logan's, their chocolaty-brown warmth grounding him. He had rolled his balaclava back into a skullcap. It was nice to see his face. Ever since he had earned the mask, Logan was rarely seen without their dad's old garment. Hesh looked over his brother's battered features. He was obviously tired, and had a wicked black eye forming. Hesh wondered when he had gotten it. The familiar scar that started above his eye stretched up towards his hairline. Strands of blond not-quite-regulation-length hair peeked out and fell over his ears in tousled waves. Hesh visually checked him for injuries, noting a small, red stain seeping out from under his combat vest.

"You…" Hesh coughed to clear his throat. "You're hurt." He tried to lift his arm and point, but the limb was leaden and refused to move.

"I'm fine, it's nothing." He pounded his opposite fist on the shoulder. "Doesn't even hurt. You, on the other hand, need help."

"Well, we always knew that." Hesh joked weakly. Logan huffed.

"Medical help, dumbass." He smiled, a big, stupid grin spreading across his face and even reaching his eyes. Hesh hadn't seen a genuine smile on his brother's face in ages. It was infectious, and Hesh found himself mirroring the expression, simply reveling in the fact that they were both alive. Then they started laughing, until they realized it hurt. Logan slumped against the rock, next to him, nearly passed out himself. It painted a strange picture: two battle-hardened soldiers sprawled in the sand and seashells, chuckling at nothing, simply savoring each new shaky breath they took.

"We got him." Once Logan said the simple statement out loud, it finally seemed real. Though Hesh corrected him,

"_You_ got him, Logan." He clapped his brother on the thigh. "You did it."

_You did what I couldn't._ Hesh looked out at the sea, again struggling to keep his eyes open. The world begged to slip away, to leave him bodyless in the void. He again slipped towards unconsciousness before he was slugged lightly in the shoulder, wringing a grunt of discomfort from the elder brother.

"Hey, don't you dare! Hesh?" Came the worried voice. Peeling his eyes back open, he heard a sigh. "Call it in. My radio's dead."

He doubted it, but did as he'd been asked. Merrick sent a casevac chopper their way. Now they just had to wait. Hesh drifted, slowly, saying,

"I'm proud of you, bro… good job." He'd slumped back, finally ready to slip into darkness. Everything hurt.

When did pain become so… _painful?_ Black crept in his vision. His head spun. Then he heard strange noises. A scuffle, then a guttural cry that jerked his eyes open. He saw two silhouettes, one man standing over the other. One's voice wafted through his fogged consciousness.

"Look what you did." Hesh knew that Southern accent anywhere. Rorke. The bastard had survived. But how? Hesh wrenched his head to the side and snapped his eyes open to look up at the hated enemy. He struggled to rise, to finish him. Rorke kicked him backwards before gesturing in Logan's direction. He was hunched over on the ground, holding his arm close to his body.

"You're good." At least the bastard sounded as much like crap as he looked. "You woulda' made a helluva Ghost." He knelt next to Logan.

_Get the hell away from him!_ Hesh scrambled to gather his thoughts; to stop Rorke. Hell, he couldn't even move.

"But that's not going to happen. There ain't gonna be any Ghosts." He hissed, getting in the wounded man's face. Logan recoiled at his close proximity, attempting to inch away before he was halted by the rocks at his back. Rorke just smirked at his futile attempts to get away.

"We're gonna destroy 'em together." Something wrenched in Hesh's gut.

_What the hell are you talking about?_ Then Rorke grabbed Logan's ankle. He started to move, dragging the young man with him.

_No… no, _hell_ no._ Hesh reached for Logan, sensing what was to come. Their fingers nearly met… but he was too weak. He couldn't grab him. Hesh looked frantically between his brother's face and Rorke's. The latter held a contemptuous sneer as he dragged Logan away.

_You leave him alone you son of a bitch!_ Hesh screamed internally. He slammed his fist down, sending small bits of sand flying. He only had the strength to utter one word.

"Logan." The sound ground its way out of his throat, hoarse and irritated, panic creeping up on him.

No, this can't be happening… Hesh looked up frantically and pitched himself forward, clawing at the dirt, trying to reach ever farther towards the receding figures.

"Logan!" He hyperventilated. Fear clawing its way into its brain was making him shut down, utterly and completely, rendering him helpless to save his brother. A word reached his ears,

"Hesh!" He tried so hard, desperate to do anything to stop Rorke, but there was nothing. Logan's voice rang out again. He sounded so afraid.

"David!"

_Nothing I can do, I can't stop him. No…_ He had never felt so powerless.

"LOGAN!"

Hesh shot bolt upright. The name tore from his lips, shattering the still air. He tried to rise to shake off the most vivid nightmare he'd ever had, but was still blind in the dark. The space felt small, close around him, making him panic. Breathing heavily, he tried to calm himself. Sweat plastered his shirt to his chest. He looked around frantically, eyes settling on nothing in the inky blackness. He wasn't on the beach. There was no surf lapping at his feet. The only light in the room came from monitors next to the bed where he lay. One of them was beeping rapidly.

Before he could process this, he heard the _click_ of a flipping switch and Hesh was blinded by white industrial lights. Strong hands grabbed his shoulders and pushed him back down onto the bed. He fought. Scared and blind, he had no idea where he was or who these people were. Fearing the worst, he thrashed in the tight grip that held him down. As his mind de-fogged from sleep, voices drifted through his ears.

"Hold him down, he'll tear his stitches!"

"Hesh calm down! You're alright!"

"It's okay, it's us! You're safe."

Hesh blinked rapidly, regaining his vision, and saw that he was in a med bay. Kick, Keegan, and another man were hovering above him. Gradually, he realized he was in the company of friends, and relaxed slightly. They pushed him down onto the sloped surface and then gave some space while the medic checked the sutures in his stomach. Pain and emotion catching up to him, Hesh slumped back and took deep breaths in an attempt to calm himself. Everything that had happened yesterday came back to him. Rorke, the beach… and Logan.

_Where is he? Where's my brother?_ The singular thought pounded through his head as Hesh tried to organize his thoughts. Then the nightmare floated back to him. Hesh's face crumpled in anguish. He saw Logan's face in his mind's eye; heard his desperate cry.

Assured that his stitches were fine, the medic adjusted the IV, adding something new to the line, then turned to the others. He looked like he was about to say something, but he was grabbed roughly from behind. Keegan guided the young man away from the curtain-walled room, saying,

"Give us a minute, alright?" Though worded nicely, Keegan made it very clear that it wasn't a request. Turning around, he briefly locked eyes with Kick. He nodded, some unspoken message passing between them. The shared look wasn't lost on Hesh. Something was amiss, otherwise they wouldn't be acting so cautiously. Kick walked slowly over to him; he'd closed his eyes, was breathing deeply, and shaking slightly. He placed a hand on the wounded man's shoulder, squeezing lightly. His eyes snapped open. They flitted around, nervous and electric.

"Hey kid. You alright?" Kick probed gently. Hesh opened his mouth to speak, but nothing but a hoarse croak came out.

"Here." Keegan took a cup of water from the nearby table and gave it to him. He drank deeply, sighing when he finally put the cup down, then looked up at the other two men. His voice still sounded torn and ragged when it came out.

"Where is he?"

_I need to see him. I need to know that he's fine. _There was that look again, passed between the older Ghosts. It held sorrow, remorse, and… distress? Kick opened his mouth and let it hang open for a moment before looking to Keegan. Something was wrong. Frantic thoughts ran through Hesh's mind,

_Why are they acting like this? What happened?_ Their continued silence was adding to his agitation. He just wanted to see his brother. Finally, Keegan spoke.

"Hesh—"

"Where's Logan?" Hesh grew more insistent. A gnawing fear grew out of nowhere. He glanced between Kick and Keegan, noting their troubled faces and uneasy stances. Kick shifted his weight from foot to foot, unable to settle on one or the other, and Keegan's shoulders were uncharacteristically slouched.

_No. _He was growing panicked, desperate._ No. Don't tell me that._ Neither of the two men standing next to him said anything, but he picked up on their unspoken signals.

"Where _is_ he?!" Hesh half rose from the bed before slumping back from the pain of the effort. Keegan finally spoke.

"We don't know." The phrase fell bluntly onto Hesh's ears. He shook his head, disbelieving.

"What do you mean, _'you don't know'_? You didn't see the trail? You didn't go after him?!" Outrage crept into Hesh's voice. They hadn't brought him back? They left their teammate out there, alone? The bastard that killed his father had escaped with his little brother? Hesh looked into Keegan's eyes, searching them for any hint of doubt; wishing for a sign that this was just another nightmare.

"Hesh, he was long gone when we reached your position." Kick spoke up cautiously, then plunged on before Hesh could retort. "You had lost so much blood; we didn't have much time to search because the medics were worried you might not make it. Even still, you flat-lined _twice_ before they stabilized you."

"You gave us one hell of a scare." Keegan chimed in.

"You think I care?" Desperation crept into his brain. "Why didn't you follow them?" These words were a whisper. Hesh's voice fell low as his ire rose. Despite the fact that these men were his team, his friends, he felt betrayed by them. He balled his fists into the sheets, clinging to the semblance of reality. The two seemed shocked by Hesh's blatant disregard for his own life. All he wanted was his brother, here, safe. Could they not understand that?

_I failed him, and you failed him too._

Kick tried arguing again.

"We had no intel on the area! The only combat ops there were me and Neptune, for all we knew the Feds that took him—"

"There were no Feds." Hesh interrupted, spitting out the interjection. His voice had graveled out and he held his eyes closed. He refused to look at them. Both Kick and Keegan shut up, confused.

"What do you mean?" Keegan questioned. "The Feds didn't take him?"

"There were no Fed_s_." Hesh repeated, accentuating his use of the plural. "There was _one_… _Rorke._" Hesh's voice filled with such loathing when he named the former Ghost that the other two men took a step back. Once they got over their initial shock, confusion set in.

"Rorke? But how? Merrick said –"

"We killed him. I swear to God, we killed him!" Hesh's voice was barely more than a whisper; he opened his eyes suddenly, trying to escape the images and emotions pounding in his head. The pure agony on Logan's face after Rorke crushed his arm. The raw, primal fear in his eyes as he was dragged farther and farther from home. The despair Hesh felt when he couldn't save him.

He was shaking again, and gripped the sides of the bed in an effort to calm himself. His breathing again turned rapid and irregular. Keegan placed a gentle hand on his shoulder to calm him. Softening his tone, he spoke,

"Tell us what happened." Hesh took a deep, shuddering breath before squeezing his eyes shut and plunging back into the harrowing memories.

"We were assaulting the train, that much you know." Kick and Keegan nodded in agreement. They had been tapped into the comms for the entirety of Stalker team and got status updates whenever Merrick had.

"We made our way up to the forward car. Rorke was there, with three others. It was a sloppy breach. We killed the three, but Rorke got close before we could shoot. I don't know _how_, but he got to Logan." The memory was so painful.

_His brother's eyes told him it didn't matter, told him to remember their pact._ Hesh tried to focus on the present, but it didn't help stop the memories. After a moment, he realized that Keegan and Kick were looking at him expectantly, waiting for him to go on.

"I couldn't _shoot_ him. He had him at gunpoint. If I had so much as twitched…" Hesh bit his lip to stop himself. He felt like if he said the words out loud, then they would become real, and he wouldn't be able to stop them.

"Bye bye brother." Keegan finished for him. The bitter phrase felt almost like a physical blow; it hung in the air while Hesh choked back a sob, still trying to appear strong, holding it all in.

"Yeah. To put it bluntly." Hesh paused to swallow the growing lump in his throat. "He shot me; kicked me back into the console. Then I told Merrick to fire on us." It was probably the ballsiest thing he'd ever done. Reflecting on it, he found it strange. Hesh had willingly called down the hellfire when he'd believed that none of them would survive. But when faced with the choice between dying or living on without Logan… he chose death. He took a shuddering breath and bit his lip, closing his eyes. Silent tears slipped down his face.

_I'm such a coward… and now Logan has to pay the price._

He felt the curiosity radiating off of the other Ghosts in the room, but they didn't press him. Hesh started gently shaking his head, warding off their unspoken questions.

"Hesh…" Kick probed gently, trying to bring him back to the present.

"No, I can't…" He stopped when his voice threatened to crack and closed his eyes again, reprimanding himself. He felt so tired.

_Come on. You're stronger than this. Stay strong for Logan. You can't let this break you._ He heard Keegan speak off to his right,

"It's okay kid. We'll wait until Merrick's here so you can just go through it once. Sound good?"

He nodded, collecting his muddled thoughts, focusing on only one before drifting off.

_You're his only hope now._


	4. Chapter 4

**AN: Well, this took longer than I expected to write (my apologies), but here it is, chapter four!**

* * *

_The rail car. He was still down here. They were sinking. Off to his right, Rorke stirred, crawling towards Logan and the fallen pistol. Hesh fought to peel himself off the ceiling, now the floor of the car, but some unknown force held him pinned. Terror gripped him as he realized he couldn't move._

I must be dreaming.

_ Rorke was reaching… stretching… he had grasped the pistol and aimed it at Logan, who was still clearing his muddled thoughts. As the pressure increased on the trigger of the revolver, frantic thoughts ran through Hesh's head,_

Stop it! This isn't how it's supposed to happen! _He watched in horror as the hammer slowly ticked back and the cylinder rotated. The world went in slow motion for an hour-long second as the hammer fell._

. _He saw the start of the recoil, the bits of unspent powder that flew out of the barrel, he could even see the spin of the bullet as it left the rifling. _

I can't watch this. _But Hesh's eyes were kept open by some invisible force. The piece of lead soared through the compressed air of the cabin, straight towards Logan. It traveled the six feet of space lazily, with no real purpose, and Hesh tracked its slow hurtle with plenty of time to take in his brother's startled expression. His eyes were widened only slightly. In real-time, you can't react to a bullet. The scrunching at the corners of his eyes, and frown between his eyebrows denoted it, though. He was already scared._

_ Hesh was forced to watch it all, despite his desperate attempts to wake himself. The bullet completed its course, at a snail's tormenting pace. _

Hesh woke with a gasp and stifled scream._ After_ he saw it tear through Logan's eye. _After _he was bound in watching the life leave his eye, that spark that had meant _home_ and _family_, extinguished. _After_ the red mist filtered idly through the air and Rorke turned back towards him, that vile smirk plastered across his face. He had said something, but the words were drowned out by the pounding of the ocean and Hesh's own howls, trying to wake himself.

The room around him was silent. No teammates this time. No medics. Just him alone in the room. He felt heavy, settled. When he wrenched himself out of the bed, all his muscles moaned in protest. He stood sluggishly, and teetered on the edge of his balance before running heavily into the door frame. He was thankful to find that he was in sweatpants and a button-up, not one of those horrid hospital gowns. He poked his head out of the medbay door, and spotted decals and markings on the walls and pipes that told him he was still on the Adamant.

He stalked down the corridors, dragging himself along on stiff legs. He knew he'd make the medics mad by wandering the ship, but he couldn't just _sit there_ while his team was working and his brother was out there with God-knows-what being done to him. Thoughts attacked him, Logan, but more importantly, Rorke, at their epicenter. He tried to just breathe: inhale, exhale, and bury the rising tide down where it couldn't be touched. The heavy breaths tugged at the stitches below his ribs, but the small sting was nothing compared to the burning white rage in his chest. Rorke took his brother, but it felt like he had carved half of his heart out. Logan was all he had left, and now he was gone. Abducted.

Hesh kept unconsciously glancing over his shoulder, expecting his brother to be there, silently following him as he always had, but the only thing that stared back at him was the cold steel of the carrier, completely empty. The hollowness of the hallways attested to the losses suffered in the last battle, and no one felt the emptiness more sharply than Hesh.

He followed his feet where they went, and eventually found himself at the Ghosts' temporary command post. The door was ajar, and seeing nothing better to do, Hesh entered. Two people were in the room. He recognized them as Neptune and Keegan. They had their backs to him, oblivious to his presence. Keegan leaned on the back of the chair Neptune occupied, and they both watched the screen in front of them intently. What looked like a status bar crawled slowly across one window, and the other held a video feed that moved similarly to a helmet cam. Hesh stood quietly behind the two and watched the status bar complete. Neptune spoke into a headset a moment later,

"Check. We got the intel. You're clear to move out, over." The video feed jerked sideways for a moment before settling and focusing on Merrick, who nodded at the camera's owner. Hesh didn't hear the reply from the team on the ground, hearing only the one-sided, "Roger that. See you back at base," after he assumed Merrick copied. He figured it was as good a time as any to announce his presence, and cleared his throat loudly. Keegan spun around quickly.

"Hesh! You're awake." The statement came out surprised, as if he had expected Hesh to be doing something else. "You shouldn't be here, kid." If that wasn't suspicious, then the way he stepped out in front of the monitors behind him was. Like he was trying to hide something. Hesh cocked his head and raised an eyebrow.

"Why?" His own voice scratched on his throat, but the question still stood. Keegan turned his eyes to the ceiling, searching it, as if thinking, _Why me?_

"Hesh—" he began.

"Keegan stop." Neptune interjected with the same tone of warning Keegan had been about to use. "Wait." He had shut down the computer bank behind him, but still wore a comm in his ear. He stood and faced Hesh.

"Wait for what?" Hesh went on the defensive, and fought to keep his voice level. He felt strangely like these two were hiding something, and worse, they were teaming up on him to keep it hidden. Neptune spoke directly to Keegan, almost ignoring the fact that Hesh was still in the room.

"Wait for Merrick to get back. The team needs to all be on the same page; we'll get nothing done by bickering among ourselves."

Neptune. Ever the level-headed, responsible one. Definitely born from experience; he was the oldest Ghost, older even than Hesh's dad had been. The one member of the Ghosts that didn't get out much, he normally worked the comm station when the others were in the field. A nagging feeling told Hesh he'd probably be seeing a lot more action in the next few weeks. Despite the sense in his words, Hesh didn't like being kept in the dark. He stepped between the other two in a bid for their attention.

"What did you mean, 'see you back at base'?" Even as he said the words, Hesh's brain started working. The U.S. had no bases in Chile. _We must not be in Chilean waters. But where are we, then? _

Keegan stepped up and grabbed him by the arm.

"Come on, kid. Let's get some chow. You've got to be starved." As if on cue, Hesh's stomach moaned like a dying whale. He had to admit, he _was_ hungry. Letting himself be led away, he glanced back at Neptune in the control room, and caught a bit of his conversation before exiting.

"Merrick? Change of plan. Hesh woke up…"

Whatever was up, they didn't fool him. He _would_ get to the bottom of their strange behavior. But for now he agreed with Keegan: food.

The mess hall was deserted, only one or two techs tucked away in the various corners of the room. Keegan kept a tight hold on him until they were at the head of the chow line, only releasing his arm to grab a plate.

"Come _on_, Keegan, throw me a rope here. What's going on?" His voice betrayed a slip of the desperation he was feeling on the inside. As they walked to a table, Keegan met Hesh's eyes for the first time today, revealing only guilt and pain behind them. He stayed silent until they were seated, and finally met Hesh's gaze squarely instead of dodging it or sliding it off to the side. He looked tired.

"Listen, Hesh. Just leave it, okay? We haven't told you, but-"

"That's been happening more and more lately." Hesh mumbled under his breath. Keegan paused to give off a peeved look before continuing.

"_But_ we've got a new base of operations for the Ghosts. The Adamant is needed for other ops, so we were supposed to move off tomorrow, but now we're bumping up the schedule a little."

"Let me guess: _I'm_ the monkey wrench?" Keegan opened his mouth to speak again, but Hesh cut him off.

"I get it. You can't tell me. Just answer me this: how long was I out?"

_How long has Logan been gone?_ Keegan sighed and rested his elbows on the table, massaging his temples with his fingertips.

"A week, but—" He started without looking up.

"A _week?_" Hesh was stunned. _I wasn't _that_ badly hurt. Logan has been missing for a whole week? _Hesh inhaled to spew off more questions but was stopped by a spaghetti-laden fork in his face.

"Look. We're moving out in two hours. We'll meet up with Merrick and he'll explain everything."

Hesh bit back a retort along with his flood of questions, and forced himself to wait the extra hours to get his answers.

* * *

Rorke stared downwards, an expression of pure contempt on his face. Ten feet below him, mired in mud, sweat, and blood, was the hunched form of a man.

Logan Walker. Rorke smiled at his work. The boy was the very image of misery; he looked exhausted, huddled close in on himself, trying to save his body heat. He cradled one arm close to his chest and his features were discolored with bruising from the beating he'd gotten.

Seven days. All it took was seven days to bring the boy this low. Tilting his head back, Rorke let the cool drizzle sting across his face. Whoever said it never got cold in the Amazon had clearly never visited at night in the rain.

Giving the shivering form in the pit one last glance, Rorke turned back towards the bunker and headed in, out of the rain. If the weather tech was right, a literal flood was on the way. He could taste an electric tang on the air; it was charged like the anticipation he always felt before an op. Volatile and dangerous. No way did he want to get caught out in that storm.

_Can't say the same for my little guest._ Rorke wondered how long it would be before he went hypothermic. In his mind's eye, he could see the kid struggling to stay above water after hours in the pounding rain and lightning storm. The image brought a wicked smirk to his face.

For the moment, Rorke reveled in his self-glory. He envisioned the mighty name of Walker brought low, dragged through the dirt and set, broken on a pedestal for all to see. Those two had had no idea what was coming after them. They were just boys, _children_, by his standards. They began fighting when they were teenagers, and ten years later, they _still_ knew nothing of war. Rorke wondered what went on in his prisoner's head, what twisted ideas of _family_ and _loyalty_ he still clung to. If it was anything like what had gone through his own head all those years ago, then he would be close to breaking already. The few times Rorke had questioned him had led to nothing, no response. The kid refused to give in, but all that was about to change, he would make sure of it.

If he was entirely honest with himself, Rorke would admit he was impressed by the boy. But he was never honest. He never told the truth if he could help it, and treated everyone else like anything they said was a lie. It was the only reason he was still alive to work for his deceitful commanders. Even still, for a _boy_, he was much stronger than Rorke would have thought. The man he used to be would have had a grudging respect for the kid. Logan had an iron will. From what he'd seen so far, this quest of his could drag out for months. Rorke saw now why Elias had made his sons Ghosts, though he still thought the other boy, Hesh, was a weakling.

_Ghosts finish the mission._ The thought, a mockery of what he'd once believed, drifted through his head, only to emphasize his point. Rorke knew how to play games with people, mess up their heads. All that he did in the train car (before they'd pulled their crazy-ass stunt, anyway) was a mind game. It would have taken a blind man to miss the uncertainty that replaced the cold determination on Hesh's face when the tables were suddenly turned on him. The boy was too confident. He treated the battle like it was already won. That's the kind of arrogance that gets people killed. And it would have, had Rorke not wanted to turn Logan.

See, the younger boy has what it takes. The fire Rorke had first noticed only burned brighter the more times he saw the kid. He knew what he had to do and wasn't afraid to do it. He wasn't afraid to sacrifice everything. He'd shot Rorke, yes, but he'd also shot and nearly killed his own brother to finish the mission. Some say you have to lose a piece of yourself to become a Ghost. Logan hadn't lost it. He'd given up the piece willingly, and that made him deadly.

The director had asked Rorke to choose. That whole last mission had had one purpose, summed up with one sentence,

"I'll give you a hundred men, for one more Ghost."

Merrick and Keegan were old, worn-out, and too set in their ways. The other two were just boys, and wet behind the ears, but still young and impressionable. They would be easier to turn. All things considered, he would have liked to take both of the Walkers. Wouldn't that be the perfect end to his former team? Killed by the sons of a man they had trusted. It had come down to his choice. Hesh was too impulsive, too volatile. But Logan, green though he may be, he was five times as tough as his brother. Passionate, driven, resilient, he fought with a fire, but he was also somehow submissive. A follower, not a leader. He was the protected, not a protector. The kid could have been unbreakable, but Elias' training gave him this fatal flaw: he was only as strong as he was with his brother. Without him, he'd break like a twig underfoot.

It didn't matter. Rorke didn't want to _break_ him anyway. He wanted to _change_ him, and that was all too easy. All it took was patience… well, on his part anyway. Logan had all seven levels of hell waiting for him.

Rorke knew from experience, that pain can worm its way inside of you. It becomes a part of you, your constant companion, sometimes even keeping you sane. Once you accept it, there's no telling what it can do. Consume you. Change you. Or set you free.

Pain will change the most loyal, idealistic fool into a dishonored bastard who kills indiscriminately. All it takes is time.


	5. Chapter 5

**AN: Hello again! I know it was a long wait, but it was an incredibly long weekend. All I can say is I was gathering writing references. (e.g. people-watching) Thanks to all for the reviews, and here is chapter five! Enjoy!**

* * *

Since the invasion in Chile, command had shut down the Ghosts until further notice. With the team having one each of MIA and WIA, it left four active members on the team; too few to continue supporting and recon ops. For the foreseeable future, the Ghosts were grounded, restricted to downtime. But then, no one ever really _enforced_ the downtime, anyway. If they needed to borrow a Black Hawk, they got to borrow a Black Hawk. It's part of the beauty of being a Tier One group, no one really questions you. It's only a matter of, "How long can we keep this up before someone reports us to command?"

Merrick strode into the base at Fresno, wary of the mass of soldiers surging around him. The op had been good. Successful infil. Snagged the intel. Smooth exfil. The whole thing was absolutely textbook. Even though the team was technically "grounded" Merrick had had them running constant recon ops. On a rotation, they could go out in fresh pairs every several hours. The only downside? Now they had about four gigabytes of data to sift through, and, from what Neptune had told him, one seriously pissed off teammate to deal with.

He and Kick went to their separate quarters and geared down. Merrick told Kick to go catch some _Z_s, and then, as much as he didn't want to, went to find Hesh. After ambling around the base for a few minutes he wandered into their makeshift rec hall. It wasn't much. Basically a couch and a ping-pong table with a coffee pot in the corner.

Hesh was crashed out on the couch. Elbows on knees, he was hunched over something, staring intently at it. Merrick walked up from behind him, and he looked up, closing a book in his hands.

"Merrick." His greeting was chilled, and the leader of the Ghosts took a moment to look at the kid before acknowledging it. All he had to do was meet his eerie gaze to know that all was not well.

"I suppose I have some explaining to do." He wasn't afraid to admit that he had kept information from Hesh. It had been necessary.

"Oh, 'you_ suppose_'?" Hesh scoffed and rose, taking an aggressive stance towards him. "Finally decided to bring me back in the loop, huh?" Merrick was at first astonished at the simple lack of discomfort in Hesh's movements. For a guy who'd been shot twice and was still "officially" sentenced to bed rest, he was getting around just fine. Even though neither of his bullet wounds were considered lethal, there had been severe blood loss. The medics promised a quick recovery… so long as Hesh followed their instructions. So, in reality, there was no telling when he'd be fit for duty.

"Relax, Hesh. That's why I'm here. We're _both_ going to come clean. You first." Merrick waved him off with a hand and took a seat in the folding chair across from the couch, motioning for Hesh to do the same. Reluctantly, he did, an eyebrow arched in confusion.

"Both of us? I already told y—"

"Tell me what _really_ happened on the train. Everything." Merrick deadpanned, bringing Hesh to a halt. The change in demeanor his words wrought was so sudden he had to do a double take to make sure it was the same person standing in front of him. Hesh had shut down, the request displacing him to the time a week back. Merrick could practically _see_ the memories replaying themselves in the younger man's eyes, and wondered how many times he'd already relived that day.

_ BANG! _

Hesh jumped out of his thoughts, startled to find that the leather-covered book had slipped from his fingers onto the floor. He hastily picked it back up, and set it on the cushion next to him when he slumped back into the couch. Merrick tilted his head curiously. Hesh had never struck him as the reading type. He knew the kid had seen the look, but had chosen to ignore it, leading him to think it was something personal.

"Right, uh… the train." Hesh sighed and ran a hand through his hair. He was obviously struggling to stay focused and concise. "Right after I radioed you about the safe word we breached the engine room. Took those guys out, but they disabled the engine. Breached the forward cabin; there were three others with Rorke. We took _them_ out, but, well you know he's a slippery bastard." His expression twisted into one of disgust. Merrick sympathized with him. After all that had happened, he still couldn't believe that Rorke was the one behind it all; he was their fearless leader once… now he was their worst enemy.

He looked up expectantly at Hesh, waiting for him to finish, but he again had that faraway look in his eyes. Merrick figured this was probably what he was like when he first came to. Keegan had told him about it; the cavernous emptiness in his eyes, the way he looked absolutely defeated. Though now, the hollow void was filled with something else, a cold unending rage burned there, and while Merrick knew that that furor had one target, it still unsettled him.

"And?" Merrick prompted. A shudder crawled down Hesh's spine. He sighed and began accentuating his dialogue with hand motions.

"Rorke had Logan in a headlock, the gun to his head… I, I couldn't think. What was I supposed to do?" His eyes flitted anxiously around the room, as if he was seeing the walls close in around him.

"Slow down, kid." Hesh took another deep breath.

"I threw away my pistol." He admitted to the surrender, shocking Merrick. The two had been utterly determined to take down Rorke, and when given the chance he threw it away?

"He would've killed him, Merrick. I couldn't live with myself if…" He trailed off, again, not wanting to make the words real. "He shot me next, and kicked me into the console behind me." Hesh glanced nervously up at Merrick, who stared at him with an intensity.

"You know, heh, it's weird, I felt so much calmer when he had the gun to _my_ head. I called 'checkmate', then Rorke started freaking out. I swear, I thought we were all going to die." He ran a hand through his hair. This was turning into more of a confession than an account. Merrick sat attentively, not commenting on the narrative, only matching the info to what he already knew. He remembered hearing Hesh's voice through the comm. So far the story matched up perfectly.

_ "Merrick, do you copy?"_

_ "Copy, Hesh." He replied, in no way prepared for the next communication._

_ "We're moving in on Rorke. If you hear the word 'checkmate', you will fire on our position. Confirm."_

_ "Say again, repeat your last?" He had been stunned and bewildered. Hesh didn't even take seconds to reply,_

_ "You heard me, Merrick! On 'checkmate', hit. This. Train!" Then the two went silent for about ten seconds, doubtless having their own discussion, before cutting their mics back on. He heard snippets of what was going on._

_ "Engine's hit, hold on!" Merrick grew on edge, worried for his two operatives._

_ "You can't win, Rorke. It's over." Hesh's tone had sounded deadly, like a razor dipped in venom. He had heard the same dozens of times on other ops, with Keegan, Scarecrow, even Kick, formerly the youngest Ghost. It was the sound of a predator, locked in on his target._

_ The next sound coming through the speaker made Merrick wince in sympathy. It was a grunt of pain, followed by one of frustration. Then, what he had desperately hoped he wouldn't hear, graveled out and choked,_

_ "Checkmate." Merrick was forced to confirm. After all his hard work, coordinating LOKI, and covering those kids' asses for the shit they just pulled, he reopened the link to the crew in orbit._

_ "Icarus Actual, do you still have eyes on the southwest train?" The voice of the leader of the AFSOC team came over the line,_

_ "Affirmative." Merrick psyched himself up for what he was about to do. Sometimes he really hated being 'Overlord', as the two men he was about to kill had unceremoniously dubbed him._

_ "Belay previous order. Target the train and fire on it." There was a palpable silence before Lieutenant Collins' hesitant reply came._

_ "But sir, there're Ghosts on that train." Merrick just told them the truth, trying to get them to hurry before Rorke figured out what was going on and found a way out._

_ "The order _comes_ from the Ghosts. You're confirmed, repeat, confirmed. Fire on that train!" It was an agonizing few seconds longer until he could verify that the kinetic missiles redirected and impacted on the rails. Before interference cut out the transmission, he heard Hesh speak to Rorke, his loathing tempered with despondency,_

_ "You lost Rorke. It's _over._" The next sound to come had been screeching metal._

Merrick still had questions, and asked them to put together the pieces he was missing. The radios had had too much interference after the rods hit the cliff.

"What happened after? Did you two escape the cabin after calling the rain?" Hesh shook his head.

"We were inside it the whole time. The ride down was rough. I think all three of us came to within a few minutes. Logan was dazed, Rorke was up, and I was still coming around. We grappled and fought. He almost got me with his knife a couple of times. Logan eventually crawled over to where the gun had been kicked; I held Rorke from behind. We were facing him. It felt like hours I held him there until he finally shot him… both of us. He hit Rorke in the heart, or so I thought. I blacked out again. Next thing I knew we were both back on the beach. He'd gotten us out, and by all rights Rorke was _dead_. Mission complete." Merrick had to agree. If he'd shot that bastard in the chest and left him at the bottom of the ocean, he would have treated him as dead, too.

"And then?" He probed. What could have happened, Rorke just came out of nowhere?

"Then… I don't know. We were relaxing, waiting for you guys. Next thing I knew Logan was screaming and he was standing there." Hesh squeezed his eyes shut again. Merrick didn't know what to think. Rorke had always been a hard son of a bitch, but this seemed beyond even him.

"Did he say anything?" That would be important. Rorke had always been in the bad habit of gloating over his rivals.

"Heh, 'Good job you two chuckleheads, you ruined everything'?"

Merrick sighed in frustration.

"What did he _say_? Word for word." Hesh closed his eyes and tremulously recalled the words that wrought such terror for him.

"He spoke to Logan. 'You would have made a hell of a Ghost. But that's not going to happen. There won't be any Ghosts. We're…'" His voice cracked. "'We're going to destroy them together.' Then he dragged him off. He's going to try and turn him isn't he?" Hesh's searched Merrick's eyes for any hint that would let him deny this conclusion, but his commander could give him none. Tears threatened to spill down his face.

"He's going to put him through all the shit that happened to him, and then I'm not gonna know my brother anymore." Hesh whispered, disbelieving. Merrick tried to come up with a way to comfort the young man across from him, but came up short. He wasn't very good at talking about emotions. Frantically, he searched for some common ground. A similar experience that they shared. His brain instantly jumped to Vegas, and he felt the anger that he'd felt afterwards flare up in him again. As much as he'd been called an 'unfeeling bastard' throughout his career, he _did_ know what it felt like to lose someone. He remembered the pure agony and sense of loss he'd felt when Scarecrow's body was dragged by. All he'd felt was an all-encompassing sense of _failure_. He had failed to protect his captain, no, not just his commander, his _brother_.

Merrick realized that that was what Hesh must be feeling like, only worse. The two boys were blood brothers in every sense of the word, and it was obvious. They were tied by blood: they grew up, trained, and fought together; Hesh knew Logan better than he knew himself. They had bled _for_ and _on_ each other, and had felt the warmth of blood from their enemies as they _killed_ for one another.

The closest he'd ever come to knowing brothers had been in the Ghosts. The others, the original fourteen, he remembered each and every one of their faces. Every one of their deaths still felt like a red-hot knife between his ribs, now that he knew who had done it. They had slowly been killed in action, picked off over the years. Looking back, he saw the pattern; Rorke had been hunting them longer than they ever knew. Those men had been his true brothers, but they were all gone, all because of a man they'd once called friend, and he'd been powerless to stop him. He'd failed them all.

Strangely, and suddenly, he felt the need to protect Hesh. Family is like an extension of a person, as vital to existence as an arm or a leg. Maybe he could start his penance for failing his friend those scant two weeks ago if he looked out for his children. It was all he could offer. He would help Hesh, and he _would_ help get Logan back. Hell, despite himself, he'd grown attached to both of them; they were good soldiers. Merrick reached out and awkwardly clapped Hesh on the shoulder. He looked up, surprised, and it was obvious that his CO was uncomfortable. The kid had the nerve to smirk, and that prompted Merrick to speak,

"Listen kid, we'll get him back. Even if Rorke does try to brainwash him, we'll find him before it ever gets that far. Logan's strong. He'll last." Merrick doubted the words as he said them. Elias had once said, if they could turn Rorke, they could turn anyone. But the words seemed to reassure Hesh.

"You're right. We _will_ find him. I won't fail him again." Hesh unwound a little. Merrick hadn't noticed how he had grown increasingly agitated over the course of his narrative. Since he seemed settled down now, Merrick hoped he would forget that he had questions too. They had their little 'team-bonding' moment, and Merrick didn't want to ruin it.

"You know better than I do what's happened since then." Merrick cursed inwardly.

_Well that didn't take long. _The accusing, upset tone was back, and Hesh stared at him, his eyes hungering for answers.


	6. Chapter 6

**AN: Another long gap between updates, I know! I might have rushed the editing and proofreading a bit so let me know if there are any loose ends. I wanted to get this out today because I have orientations coming up and will be busy for several days. Anyway. It will probably be a while until the next update. Enjoy! (And I _promise_ the action will start picking up soon!)**

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It was good that Merrick was a man of few words, since Hesh seemed determined to let everything he learned make him angrier. He paced in circles around the ping-pong table while Merrick poured himself a cup of coffee.

"Let me get this straight. I was brought back to the Adamant?"

Merrick nodded.

"You _knew_ that Logan was MIA? You _knew_ that someone had taken him?" He paused in his circuit to meet his CO's eyes as he took a sip of the dark liquid.

He nodded again.

"And you _still_ recalled the recon team when they could have tracked him and brought him back?" Hesh's voice had grown more and more outraged with each question. Merrick finally lowered the mug from his lips and made to reply,

"Kid,—"

"Don't _'kid' _me!" Hesh yelled, drawing quotes in the air with his first two fingers. "Why would you leave him out there?" They had been arguing for the past hour. Hesh couldn't seem to get his head around the idea that Logan was gone.

Merrick saw the need to slap some sense into him, and was determined to make Hesh see his side. As much of a pain in the ass as Hesh had been, he was still a member of the team, and he owed it to him to keep him in the loop. He set the mug of black coffee on the counter next to him and raised his voice a little to match the kid's fervor.

"_I_ had to think tactically. _I_ couldn't go running off on a personal vendetta at the spur of the moment," Merrick paused to point the figurative finger of blame, _'If you two had kept your heads, none of this would have happened in the first place. But _no_, you just _had_ to go after him.'_ Hesh picked up on the unspoken message, taking it like a physical blow. Merrick plunged onwards before he could reply,

"_I_ had to stop and think about the team, our resources, and the _consequences_ of any action taken. _I_ was operating with no intelligence, save that you said you had killed Rorke. _I_ didn't even know there _was_ an emergency until after Neptune called it in." Despite his constant promises to himself to keep his ire in check, Merrick was in as much of a rage as Hesh. It was becoming more and more of a challenge to be patient with the kid. The more he told Hesh about his actions a week ago, the more heated their conversation became.

"Start again." Hesh commanded. It was strange to hear him address Merrick, his CO, with the tone of authority he now used. He almost berated him for it, but he had been trying to give him at least a little slack. The kid had just lost the only family he had left.

Even still, Merrick was at the end of his rope. He knew what Hesh was doing. He was cross-examining him, checking to see if the facts Merrick told him lined up with what he remembered, and then making him repeat himself to make sure the story was the same every time. He was verifying the facts, combing through each account for discrepancies, making sure everything lined up. It was a lie detector test. Merrick had done it himself not half an hour ago.

"No. _This_ is what happened: Kick and Neptune recovered you from the beach and took you back to the Adamant, and then you woke up a week later after we'd been ordered to move off." When Merrick paused for breath Hesh interrupted.

"But that's not everything." Merrick searched for Hesh's eyes, incredulous.

_How does he know? _

"There's something you're keeping from me." The voice was level. When Merrick met the younger man's gaze, it was calm, like the stillness of the mountains before a rainfall. Steely and piercing, Hesh didn't meet his eyes, but instead, watched him. Every breath, every slight shift, down to the smallest twitch was noted and catalogued by those unnerving eyes. He watched and waited for his answer, long promised but not yet delivered.

_Should I blame myself for not wanting to tell him? _Merrick gave Hesh full marks for spunk. He'd hoped the younger man would have been distracted enough with providing intel on what happened before Logan was taken that he wouldn't remember what he had said about coming clean. Wrong. He was quickly learning that where family was involved, there was no length Hesh wouldn't go to discover the truth.

"You don't get knocked out for seven_ days_ from a couple measly bullet wounds. Seven _hours_, maybe, but not seven _days._ There's something you're not telling me, and I _will_ find out what it is." He knew they were hiding something; the jig was up. Since Merrick was now officially fed up with Hesh's childish behavior, he decided to give him exactly what he wanted: the cold hard truth.

"We brought you back. The medics had one hell of a time patching you up. Between blood loss and the water in your lungs, you were _dying_. While they worked on you, I sent out another recon team, but by their report, all traces of Rorke and Logan were gone." He was careful to keep his voice deadpan. Hesh had a talent for eliciting emotion. Even if he might feel remorse, Merrick couldn't show it. He kept telling himself he had made the _right_ choice, even if it may not have been the _best_ one.

"By the time the second team got back, the Adamant had been ordered back to California. Top priority from command, there was nothing I could do. I knew you would fly off the handle – and probably do something stupid and get your ass killed – once you found out. I wasn't far wrong, was I?" Merrick met Hesh's gaze squarely and was satisfied when his subordinate withered slightly with the weight of it, a hint of guilt crawling into his eyes. He took a deep breath and plunged onwards.

"You're right, it was probably about seven hours before the medics told me you were coming around. Your vitals were reaching normal and you looked fine… so I had them sedate you."

Hesh was shocked. It was scrawled across his face and in his tensed muscles. He stopped breathing for nearly a full minute.

_Who knew it was possible to leave Hesh speechless?_ Merrick leaned against the counter, watching the younger man. On the outside, he was stoic and relaxed, but he coiled up him muscles on the inside, keeping them tensed, taut, and ready to react to whatever outburst might come next. When the kid spoke again his voice seemed smaller.

"Merrick… what?"

"I had them keep you under for the rest of the week, and honestly, it has saved me a dozen headaches from you for _exactly_ what you're doing right now." Merrick spoke his reasoning, hoping that Hesh would understand. He'd done it to protect him from himself. Hesh began to slowly walk forward, his voice rising with each step.

"You had me _drugged_? What the _hell_, Merrick?" Clouds had sprung up in his eyes, betraying his frustration.

"You should _thank_ me! I knew this would happen. I had you drugged so that you wouldn't go batshit insane and try to go after them. The only thing you would have accomplished is getting your ass killed." Merrick stood up straight and rose to Hesh's level, equaling the malice he saw in the younger man's gaze.

"How do you think _you_ would feel if a man took your family, your blood, and left you behind, helpless." He was right in Merrick's face now. He had thought Hesh's eyes were harrowing from a distance, but up close, they were hollow pools of pain, sparkling with unspilled tears.

"Hesh—"

"HE'S MY FUCKING BROTHER, MERRICK!" The captain was taken aback by the sudden force of the shout. "What kind of a captain _are _you? Do you even ca—" Hesh shut up abruptly when Merrick seized him by his shoulders and swung him into the wall to their side.

"HEY!" _Now_ he had his attention. Hesh fell silent and stared at him through a grimace.

"You think _you're_ the only one that's hurting from this?" It had been _years_ since Merrick had lost his temper with a subordinate, and that hadn't ended well. Still, if he could scare some of Hesh's brains back into him, to keep his instincts in check, it would save them both a world of trouble.

"Logan is your brother, I get that, but he's also a member of this _team_. He's _one of us_, Hesh. We don't betray our own. We've busted our asses so hard this week, I don't even know which way is up. I pulled all the strings I had, we searched for him with every resource we could find, all while _you _were back here getting your beauty sleep."

"_Forced_ beauty sleep." Hesh mumbled. Merrick pulled him forward a few inches before slamming him into the wall again.

"I'm not finished!" He snarled, plunging on,

"Next time you go for a rampage around base, why don't you just look at them, instead of jumping down their throats? We were exhausted; dog dead tired, and you know what we got for all our hard work? Nothing. Fucking _nothing._ Rorke _vanished_." On day four of the search the haggard faces and long expressions had told him that it was almost time: they had to give it up. But he had refused. He couldn't leave his man out there, alone and afraid. As tough as they are, no Ghost lasts forever. As much as they pretend the Ghosts are invincible, everyone has their breaking point. No one has any idea where Logan's is; that meant they had to hurry.

"And _you_." Merrick jabbed his finger into Hesh's chest. "I'm tired of dealing with your _shit_. You have no right to say I didn't try. You have _no right_ to say that I don't _care._" Merrick paused to take a second's break. His voice had almost cracked on his last sentence. He hadn't wanted to get this emotional.

But why shouldn't he? Why did he throw up walls where there should be bridges? Logan was a good kid, and a good friend to the others, but for all his bluster about Logan being a member of his team, he didn't know much about him, save that he was Elias' son, and he was a damn good soldier. Was that the only reason he wanted to rescue him? Because he's a good soldier, and he's needed in the field?

_What a sad excuse_.

Merrick could truthfully say he _did_ know the Walker boy, though. He'd fought beside him countless times, both before and after he'd proven himself an excellent soldier. He'd saved the kid's life _more_ than once. Hell, he'd been there and seen the darkest part of his character, when they were escaping Vegas. Rorke's voice came over the loudspeakers and his expression had transformed, instantly, from hollow resignation to seething rage. In fact, it was very similar to the look he was getting from Hesh right now, though the older brother's was a bit watered down.

"You couldn't have helped. If _we_ couldn't find him, what do you think _you_ could have done, wounded and blind?"

"Fuck you, _sir_." Hesh spat out, looking very much like he would quickly rise into shouting and give Merrick a _real _piece of his mind, despite the fact that he was on the verge of tears.

"Stop it. Stop fighting me. And stop blaming us." Merrick released him and let Hesh turn away, towards the door. He added one final comment as the younger man rushed out.

"If you can't get yourself under control, I _will_ remove you from this team."

* * *

Hesh stormed down the corridors, the bland wood finish grating against the veritable cloud of frustration he had gathered. He didn't care who the next person he saw was, he would rip their throat out if they tried to calm him down. It seemed like that's all anyone wanted to do these past couple of days. Their voices echoed through his head,

"Calm down, kid. Don't hurt yourself, _kid_. Relax, _KID_." What was with that, anyway? He wasn't _that_ much younger than the others. It made him angry. So angry he wanted to punch, shoot, or stab something. He barely cared what, or _who_, it was, he just needed to choke the life out of something.

_Thinking like that won't help you get Logan back_. Hesh nodded begrudgingly to the part of him that still had the level head and reasonable thinking that he'd been promoted for. If he wanted back in the field, he needed to heal up, and get set right in his head, otherwise he wouldn't be able to go out there, save Logan, and get his revenge.

_If only he hadn't kept me under for so long. _He felt justified in his rage, and gave it free reign over his mind to wash away the pain from his agitated movements and the schism forming in his soul. He'd been thrown for a loop, by his own CO. He'd been tricked, no, _betrayed_. Sure, Hesh had had his fair share of frustrations with Merrick, but this went above and beyond anything he'd ever done before. Hesh had refused to accept the lie they told him, but now he was realizing that he might have been better off believing it. Maybe then he could live with himself, and his team.

Hesh looked around, coming out of his thoughts and found himself at his assigned quarters. This base was different from what he was used to in Santa Monica, where all the men from the same platoon shared a barracks. It base was equipped with individual rooms (for special forces use only); they were spare and drab, very Spartan-looking, but were just big enough to fit in a narrow bunk bed, a small dresser, and a chair. He found himself feeling grateful for the walls to separate him from the rest of his team, "team" meaning Merrick. He couldn't trust himself to be in the same room as his CO without punching him across the jaw.

The only downside to the room was the bunk bed. He looked at it and was suddenly drowning in painful memories. He and Logan had grown up with one in their shared room: Logan had had the top bunk, and he'd had the bottom. They had kept it that way when they joined the Army, and even up until a couple of weeks ago when their lives were turned upside-down, _again._ The empty space between the mattress and the ceiling just looked so _wrong_, so adverse to what he was used to.

Hesh sighed and lay down on the lower bunk, his "spot". Just like a whiny brother, Logan always pitched a fit when he sat up top. Though he'd always wanted the upper bunk, he knew already that he wouldn't feel comfortable up there. As he reclined, he pulled the small bound book from his pocket. It had a red leather cover, and though the spine was broken in one place, it was in fairly good condition.

He pondered how he'd come across it. As the team left the Adamant, Keegan had told Hesh to grab his things from the room they'd been given. He'd grabbed the few personal effects he had and was about to leave when he noticed the rusty cover looking back at him from Logan's bunk. He had no idea how Logan had held onto it through everything that happened in Santa Monica and Vegas. The old base had been destroyed and at the "safe-house", Rorke's men had searched them. They took everything.

And yet, here it was.

Hesh flipped it open to the inner front cover and took in the even, neatly spaced handwriting. It read:

Logan James Walker  
July 23, 2000

With a shock, Hesh looked up at the calendar the last occupant of his room had left on the wall. Today was July 13.

_Ten days until his birthday. _He would be twenty-seven. Hesh instantly made himself a promise. In the next ten days, he would find Logan. In the next ten days, he would save him.

That resolved, he made to turn the page before stopping himself. Would Logan be okay with him reading this? A man's journal is his refuge, one of the only places he can trust himself to feel weak. What would he find in the midst of Logan's thoughts? A chill crept down his spine, but he shook it off. It would be alright. Logan wouldn't mind. They had always prided themselves on the fact that there were no secrets between them.

_I'm about to find out if that's really true._ The first page was dated back in March, months before any of the mess with the Ghosts and Rorke happened.

Well, here I go.

Sometimes, when the guys get some downtime and some money (unfortunately the two have to coincide perfectly) we'll all pitch in for some beers and have what passes for a "party" in the barracks.  
With time, I discovered that alcohol affects me in strange ways.

After the first beer, I start wondering the strangest things. Like, "Do penguins have knees?" Or, "Why do British people's accents seem to vanish when they sing?"

Then, later on, after I've had two or three, I start to wonder things like, "What does the team actually think of me?" and, "Would they notice if I suddenly vanished?"

Then I realize that it wouldn't surprise me if they didn't. In all honesty, I'm like a ghost around them. Or a shadow. They certainly give me looks like I am one. I'm always that guy hovering quietly in the background. I don't talk much. I'm awkward with the guys. The only people I feel comfortable around are Hesh and Dad (go figure).

Usually it's after about the third beer I start to realize that if I died or went missing on a mission, it would be very easy for my team to forget about me.

And, for whatever reason, that scares me more than anything. The thought of it is terrifying. I don't want to be forgotten. I want my team, my friends, and my family to remember me.

Now you know why I'm writing this.  
To whoever is my reader is, I just want you to do one thing.

Remember me.

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**AN: In case it wasn't obvious. Logan's journal will always be center-justified and the action in the present will remain left-aligned.**


	7. Chapter 7

**AN: First off: I AM SO SORRY! I feel like such a jerk, leaving you guys for so long. I promise I did NOT fall off the face of the planet! It was just a REALLY long week. So, anyway, here is chapter seven! As usual, let me know if you spot any issues! Criticism is just as welcome as praise! And thank you all for the lovely reviews and follows! You guys are awesome!**

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Hesh flipped the page, already upset by the first paragraphs. Did Logan really think those things? Did he think that he could _ever_ forget him? He desperately hoped not.

The first entry had no date… it was almost like an introduction, or prologue. Despite his melancholy of a moment ago, he found himself laughing at Logan's depiction of their family when they were young.

I absolutely adored my big brother. Hesh is a year older than me, and we do everything together. All I ever wanted to do when we were young was hang out with him, and try to be _just_ like my big bro; and honestly? Not much has changed. Though we were a grade apart, he always sat with me during school lunch. When we hopped off the bus we'd go straight to the backyard and practice football. (I was better than him, though he'd never admit it) We stayed out 'til dark every day, especially in summer, swimming, playing football or basketball, and even wrestling occasionally. Anything we _could_ do together, we did. Even when Hesh tried to leave me at home and slip out alone, I didn't care that I was breaking the rules too, I followed him _everywhere_. I had his back and he had mine. _That_ was all that mattered to us.

My friends' complaints often confused me:

"My sister just doesn't get it! I deserve some time alone! Why do _I_ have to put up with her all the time?"

_Because you're her elder sibling and she looks up to you; because she loves you and considers you her best friend? Or wait, is that just me?_

He got me in _so _much trouble. Hesh was more rebellious, but I wasn't exactly a model child either. We were more like partners in crime. Once he wanted to go out to a concert with some friends, but he was grounded for accidentally shooting the neighbor's mailbox, so I helped him sneak out by distracting Dad with "movie night"… well, anyway. That _particular_ sneak attempt didn't end well.  
I never really cared, though. We stuck together, we got punished, but it was worth it.

We spent so much time hanging out, getting up to trouble, and practicing sports, that homework and school projects often went out the window. That bugged mom. She was always stressing the importance of our education,

"Schools exist for a reason!", "How do you expect to get anywhere in life with grades like _these_?" she often asked when our report cards came in. It wasn't that we didn't know the material in our classes. We would just rather spend our time outside of the house. (I can't imagine _ever _being tied to a desk job)  
Mom loved us though, and she loved dad, even though he was never there for us.  
Well, at least I thought she did.

Hesh put the journal down for a second and stood, crossed the room, and locked the door. He was barely a page into it and he was tearing up. It was like hearing Logan speak; he could _hear _his voice in every word, the highs and lows of it highlighting his unique brand of snark. The voice of his brother echoed around, making him ache to hear it for real.

He propped himself up against the wall so as not to strain his stomach, and glanced at the clock.

1900. Good, he had plenty of time to be alone. It wasn't like he had anything to do anyway. He just wanted relax and unwind for a while.

So, yeah.

I had the deepest respect for my parents, and I know Hesh better than I know myself. I saw us as wonderfully interdependent, always able to rely on one another's love and friendship when it really mattered.

I admit, I probably overdid it with the description, but that's the way it_ really_ was.  
Blissful and perfect.

Then, of course, there was high school. Actually, it was eighth grade that was the worst.

Ehrm, anyway. Mom was _awesome_. There's a keyword there: was.

She had an intense personality and only _slight_ issues with perfectionism. She always pushed me and Hesh really hard in school, partly because she was finishing up her PhD in psychology. She was also an accomplished author and had published two books in her area of neuropsychology. That's what I've been told about her anyway.  
I don't remember what she was renowned for, I remember her for the _mom_ things she did. I remember her wavy blond hair and sparkling green eyes; fleeting impressions of the scent of waffles and fresh laundry. To this day they warm my soul and remind me of her. (Despite all the bitterness I've saved up over the years) It's a sappy, squishy feeling I get that turns my insides to jelly, then I think I'm feeling her hair tickle my face the way it did when I was five and she scooped me up in her arms as I raced Hesh to the door (and lost). To this day, certain things still remind me of her. Like the waffles (even though we have to go to IHOP to get them) and the laundry (except it will never smell nearly as good as that old Snuggle bear used to make it).

Yeah, okay. I know I'm crazy.  
Shut up.

Hesh actually laughed out loud. He knew Logan could be animated, but it had been so long since he'd seen that side of him that he thought it had died out years ago. He plunged back in, noting apprehensively the date at the top of the page, 09/27/13. It was the day mom left them; a bitter, hated day. They never knew why, or where she went, she just left. Dropped off the face of the earth. It completely blindsided the family.

He was now one hundred percent certain that Logan's journal was going to break his heart into even more shattered pieces. To say the very least, the text was unsettling: reading about his own life in such explicit detail. Coming from anyone else, the journal would have been disturbing, just by the depth of detail that Logan had written about Hesh's life. They had spent so much time together, they probably shared ninety percent of their memories.

Hesh laughed inwardly. If _anything_ was disturbing, it should have been _that._

His eyes scanned down the pages, reading about the football game, how dad surprised them by appearing at half-time, then hitting up the pizza joint afterwards to celebrate. They brought dad home and chatted him up until about two a.m. before he made them go to bed. He stayed curled up with mom on the couch and Hesh and Logan snickered as they slipped upstairs, their childish brains guessing what they would probably be up to later that night. But the next morning, they rose early only to find dad sitting alone on the porch, staring into the distance. He looked haggard and tired, like he hadn't gotten any sleep. He looked _lost_. Not over their ecstasy that he was _home,_ they tackled him with hugs before asking where mom was. All they could get out of him was, "She's gone."

Hesh remembered it all too well. Confusion, resentment, and a consuming anger towards both his parents. Whatever happened between them, behind closed doors, had to be someone's fault. He had gotten into it bad with dad. Logan's reaction was quite different:

You never know what's gonna stick out in your memory.  
The last words mom ever spoke to me?  
"You talk too much."

She said it jokingly, of course, when we were hanging out in the living room after going out for pizza, and with that half-annoyed smile she wore when she couldn't decide if I was being obnoxious or cute.

It shut me up good, that's for sure.  
She left, and I can't help but feel that it's somehow my fault. That I wasn't good enough for her. I was never very talkative, but after she left I was so devastated that I changed. She said I talked too much? I went silent, reconciling what I knew, and thinking that it would bring her back to us somehow.

You see how well _that_ turned out.

The Army shrinks tell me it's a psychological thing. I don't really know what half the stuff they say means, but I'm guessing it makes sense to _them_.

Anyways, I still hardly talk. And almost never to anyone other than Dad or Hesh, the two people I trust. Anyone else, I typically ignore.

It's gotten me lots of funny looks. Some people who are just trying to be friendly will walk up and try to strike up a conversation. I don't _mean_ to blow them off; it just feels like there's nothing worth saying. I just stare back in silence. Hesh calls me crazy because most of these nice people are pretty girls who are trying to give me their number. Apparently I'm 'hot', and a 'stud', as I've overheard some of them saying. Whatever _that_ means.

And, of course, there were bullies. What school _doesn't_ have them? There are usually three or four of them; they all hang out in a gang in their specific haunts.

When I couldn't avoid them, they would gang up on me. Sometimes it was funny, though. Since I hardly spoke, I mastered facial expressions, namely the "murderous glare" slash "steely-eyes" slash "bitchface"… yeah, you get the picture. It only took one look and the mob scattered. They still jeered at me though, calling out, "mute", "dumbass", and "Cat got your tongue, Walker?"

It was infuriating.

Hesh concluded that either one, Logan was a very dramatic and well-spoken teenager, or two, he just started writing his journal recently. He figured it was the latter, because Logan had mentioned "Army shrinks", meaning the medical officers who do psychological evaluations for infantrymen.

He _also_ knew that Merrick would make him see one before putting him back in the field and wondered if he could even pass a psych eval.

He glanced back over to the clock and decided it was time to turn in. He could continue this in the morning. He settled down surprisingly quickly, head spinning with the insane amount of things he had to think about: fooling the shrink, trying not to kill Merrick, and getting Logan back. Slowly, almost reluctantly, he drifted off to wait for another day, willing the nightmares not to come.

* * *

_ "Grab the gun!" Hesh kneed Rorke in the face and they grappled for a brief moment before he was lifted completely off his feet and slammed into the floor. The blow snatched his breath away, and the subsequent thrust to his ribs aggravated his already agonizing bullet wound. He choked the cry of pain down to a grunt as Rorke jumped on top of him, plunging his knife downwards. He caught his opponent's hands and stopped them mere inches above his throat, keeping it quivering there, its tip barely scratching the skin. They wrestled for control of it; in the struggling grip of both combatants, it gouged a shallow trough across Hesh's neck when he jerked his arms to the side, shunting the combat knife away and disarming his opponent. _

_ He quickly glanced right. Logan had sluggishly dragged himself to the .44. He aimed and fired._

Click._ The anticlimactic ping was the last thing Hesh wanted to hear. The pistol was empty. Scanning Rorke's chest rig, he spied the pouch where he kept loose cartridges for the revolver. Summoning all his strength, he punched Rorke hard in the jaw and ripped the pocket open, catching the cartridges as they fell, then threw them blindly to his right, too fixated on blocking Rorke's slamming fist to aim._

_ "Logan, here!" He heard the sounds of the chamber being opened and the spent casings and fresh shells clattering to the floor, and wished Logan would hurry; he couldn't hold him off forever. _

_ Suddenly, Rorke was off of him, lunging towards Logan in an attempt to stop him from loading the sidearm. Hesh brought his knee up faster, though, and the larger, less nimble man toppled. He wasn't down for long, but Hesh then seized him from behind, bracing him in a firm headlock. Rorke fought, but couldn't get free._

_ Hesh was able to watch Logan as he snapped the cylinder shut. He squeezed his eyes shut and waited for the bullet, straining every muscle, utterly focused on restraining the stronger man, but the blast never came. _

_ "Logan! Do it!" Seconds warped and felt like hours passing. _Why hasn't he shot yet?

_He cracked an eyelid and peeked out at his brother. Logan wasn't even aiming the firearm, it rested in his hand. He stared at the sidearm, looking thoughtful for a moment, before a smile turned the corners of his mouth up. He relaxed on the floor. Hesh's eyes widened and panic gripped him. Rorke began to slip out of his hold._

Why aren't you moving? _Do_ something!

_ "Do it, now!" He screamed._

_Too late. Rorke was free. He got to his feet, spun and kicked Hesh backwards into the wall. Hesh coughed to help get his breath back and called out desperately to his backup, his wingman._

_ "Logan?!" Rorke caught him by his throat and pinned him against the cold steel. His face grew hot; his eyes threatened to pop out of his skull. He couldn't breathe. Logan walked slowly to Rorke's side, a bemused expression dancing on his face. His lips parted, but the voice that came out didn't belong to him. The Southern tainted tongue echoed throughout the cabin, taunting him._

_ "He's not your brother anymore. You left him behind." Hesh shook his head, both to deny Rorke's voice and to shake the black spots from his vision. He was losing it._

_ "He's _mine _now_. _Logan is gone."_

_ His brother raised the revolver and fired._


	8. Chapter 8

**AN: I still feel awful for not updating for _ages_, so here is another update. (within 24 hours of the last one! Woohoo!) I know the plot feels like it's crawling along right now, but I promise the action will pick up in the next few chapters! And as always thanks for the wonderful reviews!  
**

**EDIT: Okay, this chapter wasn't up to par, and I agree with the first review I got for it, "Too much Hesh." While he _is_ the main character, and his POV should be expected often, even I get tired of writing him. So here is the same thing, just a little changed, and hopefully less clunky!  
**

* * *

_ "Logan is gone."_

"NO!" Suddenly the crushing hand at his throat was gone, and Hesh shot upwards with a yelp, giving in to his first instinct and head-butting the man in front of him.

"Ouch! Damn it, Hesh!" A familiar voice cried out. Hesh took a moment to calm his rapid breathing and gather his thoughts, and then looked up at Kick, who was holding his nose and grimacing. Hesh winced in sympathy. His morning voice came out as a dry croak when he spoke,

"Sorry man. I thought you were someone else." He nervously wiped his palms on his pants legs before a couple of lights pinged on in his head.

"Wait, how did you get in?" The door was locked last night. Kick chuckled nervously.

"I uh… I kicked the door in." He replied, his voice sounding clipped and nasal from his plugged nose. Hesh brought his eyebrows together in confusion, displacing the sweat that had gathered there. It ran down his nose and he wiped it off hurriedly, trying to hide the signs of his nightmare. The confused look was enough to communicate his question, though, and Kick shrugged, explaining himself,

"I came through looking for you since I didn't see you in the mess hall this morning." He said it as if it should have been obvious. "They made blueberry pancakes; I didn't think you would want to miss out." He released his nose and checked his hand: no blood.

Hesh stifled a chuckle at the simplicity of his reasoning. _I didn't want you to miss out on these epic pancakes, so I kicked in your door._ A true bro, that one.

"But when I got to your door I heard shouting and thumping. I tried yelling through it, but you just kept carrying on. I tried the handle and it was locked. So I got in here and woke you up."

"Well, thanks." Hesh skimmed a hand over his buzz-cut hair, not wanting to elaborate and still shaking off the dream. His nerves were still on high-alert. Kick seemed to know, somehow.

"Nightmares?" Hesh sighed.

"Yeah. Every night since… well, since I woke up." A bitter tone crept into his voice. _How many breakfasts did he let me miss _then_? Six? Seven?_

"Merrick was only doing what he thought was best, Hesh." Kick instantly jumped to defend his captain.

"Can we just…" He interjected, "Can we _not_ talk about Merrick? Please?" Kick smirked.

"Sure. Seriously, though, let's go get you some chow. I think they're still serving breakfast." Hesh glanced at the clock and didn't see Kick throw the t-shirt he had left on the chair. It smacked him in the face, giving Kick another laugh, and Hesh eased it on over his bandages before rising and following the older man, not caring that he was still in his sweatpants. As they walked up to the mess hall, Hesh came to a realization.

"Hey, Kick, I just thought of something."

"Oh? What's that?" He asked.

"I've known you for almost three weeks, and I don't even know your name." Kick just laughed. When Hesh gave him a look, he quieted down, and asked incredulously,

"Dude, you're serious?" Hesh nodded. He chuckled, and mock introduced himself, sticking out a hand.

"Dean Maverick, pleased to meet you, David." Hesh smirked, and laughed to himself as he shook the proffered hand.

"Oh, what's so funny? I'll have you know I'm very proud of this name." Kick shot Hesh a suspicious glance.

"It's nothing."

Logan would have said it was the name of a movie star, not a soldier. Hesh imagined his eyebrows crawling all the way up his forehead, _"Names like that don't exist in real__ life.__"_

Kick scoffed and feigned offense, trying, and failing, to hide his mirth. He suddenly struck a dramatic pose, forming a pistol with his fingers. He took a Batman-esque stage voice and said,

"My name is Maverick. Dean Maverick, and this is my partner, James Bond."

Hesh stared in shock for a full minute before bursting out laughing. He didn't know that Kick (or any of the Ghosts, for that matter) was even capable of comprehending humor, let alone cracking his own joke. They had been in such dire straits for the past month that there had been little time for horsing around. Of course, he and Logan had made their _own_ time; they would have gone crazy if they couldn't be childish every once in a while. Kick spoke again, almost as if reading his mind,

"What's the matter, David Joshua?" He slugged him in the arm and chuckled. "Your brother thought the same thing." That was shocking. Hesh shook his head to clear it and realized he'd been caught staring. The light in the corner of Kick's eye made him wonder for a split second if he had gone mad, but the use of his middle name made Hesh drop it. He changed topics,

"Dude, spill it. How did you know what I was thinking? And how do you know so much about us? Logan _spoke _to you?" Kick smirked again, but this time the smile had a sadness tugging its edges down.

"Yeah, Logan and I talked a lot after… well after Vegas. I got to know him a little. You two are very similar." He nonchalantly shrugged off the mind-reading. "And I helped him to work through some things. You know... afterwards."

Hesh _did_ know. _He_ was what Logan had had to work through. He dipped his head, ashamed of himself, but glad that they'd settled their differences before getting into the mess they were in now.

"As for knowing about you kids, that was all Scarecrow. Elias. You couldn't get him to shut up about you. He was one of the few Ghosts who had a family, so of course, every bit of news he got from Gen, you can bet your ass we heard all about it too. We had a lot of laughs at the expense of your growing pains, I'll tell you that."

As they walked into the chow hall, Hesh was lost in thought. The smell of cooking batter hit his nostrils, and he couldn't help but remember what he had read last night, what Logan had written about mom. He inhaled deeply through his nose.

_Pancakes… Waffles. Close enough. _Hesh noticed that he was hungrier than he first thought and piled his plate high.

"Did you know her? Gen, I mean." He asked once they sat down. It felt weird calling his mom by her first name. Kick thought for a moment.

"No. I saw her in a few video calls, but I never met her in person. On the rare occasion that we actually _got_ leave I visited my sisters in Jersey."

He nodded understanding, but found himself resentful of the man across from him. Kick had spent more time with his dad than Hesh himself had.

"But… well, I don't have to tell _you _the story. After Sand Viper the world went to shit _fast_, and the Ghosts were needed more and more. Scarecrow was either incredibly lucky, or had friends higher up than he let on. _No one_ in SF gets out in the middle of a global crisis. He had to have cared for you boys a helluva lot to do that, and you ought to know he was damn proud of you."

Hesh nodded and tucked in heartily to his breakfast. He and Dean talked for a good while and laughed over pancakes and OJ, trying to shut out their melancholy. He decided that Kick was alright, and for a fleeting half-hour Hesh relaxed a little; it was like old times with his old team.

Until Keegan walked up next to their table.

"I hate to interrupt this little bro-fest," he said, deadpan, "but Merrick's looking for us. You too, Hesh."

The change in Hesh's tone and demeanor, from almost happy to resentful, was so sudden that Kick had to do a double-take.

"What does the old man want this time? To chew me out for sleeping late?"

* * *

Neptune sat at the side of the clearing, scratching the pup behind its ears. The German Shepherd sat and started kicking his back leg lazily.

"Yeah, that feels good, doesn't it boy?" He grabbed the dog on either side of its head, making it look at him, and rubbing his fingers in calming circles under its ears. For the past week it had been agitated and antsy, in a Shepherd, two _very_ hard traits to deal with. It stuck its tongue out and looked at him through half-lidded eyes, in that way that only a dog can.

"You miss them don't you?"

He shut his mouth and gazed morosely up at Neptune.

"Listen. Hesh is about to come through that door," Neptune spoke to the dog seriously, as if he were a nervous recruit being tasked with a mission. The dog's ears perked up slightly and he swept the dirt with his bottlebrush tail at the name of his handler.

"So I need you to love all over him, alright?" It seemed to look happier for the moment, and Neptune let go of its head, continuing to scratch behind its ears with one hand, while painfully aware of the stares and strange looks emanating from the three gentlemen speaking to Merrick across the clearing.

He was an old man talking to a dog.  
He wasn't all that impressed by the three new guys. They all stood nearer the entrance to the course, speaking with Merrick. The two Air Force boys looked skilled and competent, though one was obviously more green than the other. Their ABUs were clean and fresh, and though they stood at ease, their posture was perfect, ramrod straight. He thought he could work with the two.

It was the third new member that he was unsure of. After decades of working in JSOC, he had learned how to size a man up, and this one was definitely trouble. His ACUs were old, and mussed up, and he wore his dark hair in a barely-regulation mop. Neptune could practically _see_ the countless miles and battles rolling off of him, but he didn't wear them proudly. Instead, he projected an arrogant air, as if he owned the world. It was a horrible way for a soldier to present himself.

At the sound of footsteps coming from the other side of the door, the dog at his feet tensed, coiled as if to spring. Neptune spun the pooch around to face it and whispered in its ear as the door opened,

"Go get him."

He watched as Hesh exited the building and was instantly tackled by a tornado of fur and slobber.

"Riley!" He hit the ground with an _oof_ and wrapped the dog in a steel embrace, burying his face in the soft coat and breathing in the oily musk. He stayed like that, hugging his dog for a long moment before rolling Riley off of him. The dog just reached around to playfully lick his face, flopping across his knees at the same time. Hesh smiled for the first time in a week, and sat up cross-legged. Riley lay down and gently rested his head on his thigh, looking pitifully upwards as he did so, and let out a low, whistling whine.

"Ssh, it's okay, boy." Hesh lowered his head and whispered to the dog, who lifted his head and looked up, sadly.

Merrick cleared his throat loudly. Hesh seemed to realize that everyone was staring at him, and pushed Riley's nose down when it crept up to his armpit. Now that everyone around the obstacle course's attention was on him, he picked up on the look Merrick was shooting him, returning it for an icy moment, before rising, brushing the dust from his sweatpants, and standing in line with the other Ghosts, calling Riley to his side.

"Now that we're all here, we can get started." The CO began, and gave Hesh another pointed look that Neptune couldn't decipher_._

"Fall in."Merrick turned back to the three newcomers and spoke the command. The stepped in sync to form a line facing the Ghosts, and stood at ease.

"Gentlemen, welcome to Task Force Stalker, the dwindling remnant of the US special forces. You may have heard of the 'Ghosts'?" Two of the guys nodded affirmation, while the third stared stoically ahead, brow slightly furrowed.

"Welcome to the legend. You're here because, as I said, our numbers are few, and we will be needed more and more as we pick up the fight against the Feds. You three are among the most qualified to join our ranks, but we still need to make sure you can survive on our team. Today and tomorrow you will be tested in physical strength, combat effectiveness, and mental ability. Best of luck, gents." Merrick then turned toward the assembled Ghosts and gave out their assignments,

"Kick, Neptune, run them through the obstacle course. Do as many variations as you like. Hesh and Keegan, go ahead and prep the firing range, they'll go over there later. I want reports on performance by this evening. Fall out." After they all acknowledged their orders, he dismissed them to their duties. Neptune paired up with Kick and strode over to the three arrivals to introduce themselves and get them started running the course.


	9. Chapter 9

**AN: I am terrible at updating. I truly am sorry. Ugh. I don't even know how long it was this time! Anyways, the story is back (for today at least)! I think this is a pretty good chapter, even if I'm not _entirely_ happy with it. I hope you guys enjoy!**

* * *

Hesh stalked beside Keegan as they traversed the field between the obstacle course and the firing range. He was in a foul mood, and the frequent ballistic _crack_s from the range ahead weren't helping. After about a minute or so walking in awkward silence, Keegan took the bait with a sigh.

"What is it, kid?" It was obvious, even to the most oblivious observer, that Hesh was upset about something (and it was especially obvious to Keegan what that something was, but he asked anyway). His reply held an incredulous tone.

"New recruits? Testing? We shouldn't be here training, we should be out _there_ trying to _do_ something about this whole mess!" Keegan sighed and tried to explain in a reasonable manner. Merrick had told him all about Hesh's last blowup and he didn't want to have to deal with _that_ right now.

"Command needs us back on our feet. They've given us some downtime for now, to recoup and recruit some new members. We _can't_ be an effective team with only four active members. It's a smart move for us; build up our strength while we can. You know." Hesh seemed to concede the point, but continued to mumble and gripe about the situation.

"'Command needs us' my _ass_."

_Well you _have_ been an ass lately, but that's beside the point._ Keegan tried to maintain a neutral face. He didn't want to be forced to take sides in this stupid rivalry between Hesh and Merrick. He thought it would be better if he just locked the two in a room and let them wale on each other until they were chill again. That had always worked for him and his brothers growing up.

"It's just…" Hesh let out a suppressed sigh.  
"It…" He clearly didn't want to share what he was thinking.  
"It feels like he's _replacing _him." He finally confessed.

_That_ was something Keegan could relate to. His days before the Ghosts, when he was in Marine Recon, had been filled with casualties. He had lost so many close friends that he had eventually decided to stop making them. He distanced himself as far from his team as he could while remaining a part of the cohesive whole. But no matter how much he detached himself, he always felt the pain of their loss. The inevitable 'new kids' weren't all bad. They just had timing and fate against them. The team would call them 'greenies' and 'recruits', but in truth, no one operating on their level was truly new to the game; they were just a new face on the team. That was the only reason for the resent and loathing they received, but Keegan still hated them.

Until he got thrown together with fifty-nine other elite SOF operatives on a suicide mission. Complete strangers became close friends in an instant. It was necessary. They _had_ to trust each other or else the whole task force would have been a flop, the mission failed. The days they were on that op were the worst hell he could imagine, but he had come out of it closer to the other thirteen men than he had thought humanly possible.

That wasn't to say that they _knew _each other. They knew nothing of each others' likes, dislikes, family, past, circumstance, nothing. But something happens to you when you lie together with your brothers-in-arms, in pools of your comrades' blood, watching and waiting for an unseen enemy. You don't know whether death is coming for you, and if it does will it be fast and painless, or a slow tortuous bleed-out, mixing your own life force with that of those you've lost already? The level of fear and uncertainty is unfathomable to anyone who wasn't there, and so you are drawn to those who were. You cling to the comrades who came through with you because they _know_. They understand what you felt. And some people react differently than others, but at the end of the day, they were all new brothers, christened with blood and tested on the battlefield. It's a type of bond that doesn't break easily, and when the blood dries and the sweat is wicked away, that man will stand with you, because you pulled each other through your weakest times.

He couldn't understand how Hesh thought they didn't know what he was feeling. The team _did_ feel this. Not to the degree of when they lost Ajax, Torch, or Gator, but the way he saw it: any man who will shed blood with you is a friend, and is to be protected, as simple as that.

Keegan got so lost in his own thoughts that he almost missed the shouted whisper from the man walking next to him.

"I just want him _back_." His voice came out husky and torn, and for the first time, Keegan heard him as a brother, just aching to be with his family again, a feeling he knew all too well. Hesh had stopped walking and stood, silently, eyes closed, looking like he was holding in a sob. The older Ghost found a bit of sympathy for the kid, and awkwardly placed a hand on his shoulder, squeezing lightly.

"I know." Keegan's voice was uncharacteristically gentle, and when Hesh's eyes snapped open, confused, to investigate the source of it, the moment was over and he had turned back to the firing range.

"Come on."

* * *

_My name is Logan Walker.  
I am an American soldier, and a Ghost.  
This is the ninth day that I've been stuck in this hell-hole._

_ But that doesn't matter.  
Because they're coming for me. My brother and my team.  
They will save me._

_ They'd better._

Nine days. Logan snorted inwardly and pulled his knees in closer to his chest. The only reason he knew how long it had been was because Rorke felt the need to carve a new mark in his arm for every day of his captivity. There were eight already there, and he had yet to face the sadistic bastard today. He adjusted the way he was seated, still leaning against the wall, so he didn't have to keep working to pull his feet out of the mud.

_At least this hole isn't flooded anymore. _Despite his promise to himself, his resolve to stay strong, the monsoon that buffeted his pit over the past few days had pushed him to the end of all endurance. The water was just deep enough that he had to tread water to stay above it, but not quite high enough so that he could reach the edge, or the cage above, and rest. He was so exhausted that he almost sobbed in relief when his feet touched bottom again. He would have begged, groveled, _anything_ to get out of there if there had been someone to hear him, but the guards had disappeared, unwilling to stay out in the storm. Instead he spent his time venting his frustration at a volume to rival the howling wind.

A few hours ago, he was a sniveling, sopping mess, (not to mention _cold_) but now he strengthened his resolve again. The day had just begun, so Logan prepared himself. The maniacal glint he had seen in Rorke's eyes didn't bode well. He had a bad feeling that everything was about to get a whole lot worse.

He didn't have to wait long until his fears were confirmed. About an hour after sunrise, yelling in Spanish drifted down from above him, and the lid to his prison was lifted. A couple of guards dropped down and peeled him out of the mudslide. Setting him on his feet, they let go, but Logan let himself drop back into the slop. He was exhausted, and there was no way in _hell_ he was going to make this any easier for them. They kicked him, shouting in his ear what he assumed were commands to get up. It hurt, but he didn't really care. The pain was becoming a constant; over the days, he slowly grew accustomed to it. After a moment of yelling at him, they finally slung his arms around their shoulders and carried him up a pair of ladders, abruptly dumping him on the ground when they reached the top.

Logan wished he could fight, run, or at least struggle more to make it even the slightest bit harder for them, but he was too weak and tired. His starved limbs refused to obey, and remained stiff and sore from all the work they'd done treading water. He sluggishly twisted his head around and squinted up at his loathed enemy above. Rorke loomed over him, silhouetted against the morning sun. The white-gold light spread its rays around, looking for all the world like a halo crowning the former Ghost where there should have been horns.

He spoke something in Spanish and the guards on either of Logan side lifted him to his knees, holding him by his arms. His head lolled on his chest, and he hissed at the pain. Fingers snaked through the tangled, matted mess that was his hair and jerked his head back.

"Are we ready to cooperate today?" Every time it started out the same. Logan spat out the bile he'd been saving up and aimed it right in Rorke's face. The man blinked slowly and wiped it off with the back of his other hand. It came away stained with pink.

"I'll take that as a no." Rorke's hand grabbed his head more firmly and pulled it back so that his mouth fell open. He unscrewed the canteen from his belt and poured the liquid into Logan's mouth. On contact it burned, like the sizzling aftertaste you get after throwing up. Some of it dribbled down his throat but he exhaled and kept most of it out. After a second of the downpour, Rorke clamped his hand over his mouth, sealing the acid in. Logan glared daggers up at him.

_I can still breathe, you idiot. No way in _hell_ will you make me drink this poison._ Even still, his mouth felt like it held burning lava, and it took more and more effort to keep his throat closed. He knew better than to swallow. The second day he was in the pit, they had fed and watered him. Logan ate everything and squeezed the water bottle dry. An hour later he was retching and coughing into the wet loam of his prison; he had thought his insides were going to be outsides.

Rorke pinched his thumb and forefinger together, over his nose, effectively sealing off Logan's airway.

"Swallow, and I might let you breathe."

He began to panic. Fear clawed up out of his chest and bloomed in his mind. It told him, "Just _breathe_, dumbass!" The now-familiar sting of coming tears prickled up at the corners of his eyes. It was all he could do to keep himself focused.

_Not now. Focus. Fight him._

He couldn't inhale; his lungs burned; his vision fizzled out at the edges. He tried shaking his head, leaning away, and struggling against the guards, who tightened their grip tortuously on his arms. Looking up, he saw the owner of the hand looking down at him without pity; his eyes were cold onyx globes, demanding that he swallow.

Out of air, and out of options, Logan downed the fiery liquid, instantly dizzied by the huge _pop_ in his ears.

The hand didn't move. Tears welled up in his eyes, threatening to spill over, and he continued to thrash.

_I did what you wanted! Let me go! _After what felt like an agonizing minute longer, Rorke released him and let him get the precious oxygen he needed. He gasped in lungful after lungful of air for a precious few seconds before Rorke wrenched his head back again and poured more of the fiery solution down his gaping maw. He repeated the process several times, each time cutting off Logan's air for longer and longer until he swallowed the poison. His insides were starting to light up like he'd drank a gallon of spoiled milk. He guessed it would only get worse from there. Rorke spoke, his grating voice aggravating the swirling of Logan's muddled thoughts.

"The longer you keep this up, the more it will hurt. Soon, you'll learn that you _can't_ fight me. But for now I think I can settle for _beating_ some sense into you." He gestured to the few guards around them, again voicing his unknown instructions in Spanish. They complied without hesitation and Logan realized that the ground was sliding beneath him. His arm began to throb along with his heartbeat and many injuries, together they sent strange electricity across his skin that spiked at the slightest stimulus.

He didn't even realize that he was dangling from his arms until the guards released him and he stayed upright. His wrists were secured above his head, on either side of the pole that his head lolled against. It felt like a telephone pole, the cracked, pressure-treated wood biting into the bruises on his face. Vaguely, he wondered what Rorke had planned.

He squirmed against the restraints, despite the teeth-grinding pops that came from his right arm. Whatever drug was in that concoction was starting its work. His guts were tying themselves in agonizing knots, his head spun, and his eyes watered, spilling over into tears. The sun beat down and Logan noticed drops of sweat running across his skin. Their moist presence didn't bode well for the rest of the day. He squinted his eyes shut, focusing on taking the day one breath at a time.

"I think I'll let you _cool down_ for a bit before we get down to business." Rorke remarked, seeming pleased with his own irony. He made as if to walk away, but turned back as if he just remembered something.

"Oh! I almost forgot." He pulled his knife from its sheath in his boot and reached down quickly, placing another bloody tally next to the others on Logan's arm. Nine marks. Nine days. He winced, but refused to do more than that. The pain in his limbs felt almost normal by now; a simple reminder that he was still alive.

"They still haven't come for you." The gravelly, yet somehow suave voice came as a whisper in his ear. Logan suppressed a shudder at his torturer's proximity. Then the presence was gone.

_Thanks asshole._ Rorke left for good this time, leaving Logan to bake and brood with his thoughts.

_ Nine days._

_ Please hurry, David._


	10. Chapter 10

**AN: I really suck at this whole "updating regularly" thing, don't I? So yeah, I'm just going to swear off that little commitment. The updates will come when they will come. Anyway, the next chapter. Things are happening, and the Ghosts are finally _doing_ something! (yay!) Enjoy the chapter!**

* * *

_Summer 2014_

We three grew even closer after mom left (if that was possible). Hesh and I, while close before, became literally inseparable. Seriously, we were joined at the hip. I even studied hard and took extra classes so that we would graduate at the same time (_okay_, maybe I'm overly attached to him).

Dad "retired", which is to say, he got a stable station close to home. I don't think he'll actually ever _retire_. He's too stubborn. Instead of being active duty, on some foreign base doing who-knows-what, though, he took a station in Santa Monica.

"_Welcome back to the States, Captain Walker! Let's give you a job, oh wait there's nothing available, looks like you're a quartermaster, now."_

Yep, that's basically what happened. He went from active Army Ranger service to being a desk-jobbie in twenty four hours. He would occasionally consult and coordinate tactics and missions for other operators, but only rarely. Hesh and I both knew that it would have been _impossible_ for him to get out, and we didn't want him to. But it was good having him around more. It made our house feel like _home_ rather than just the place where we lived, especially after everything that happened with mom. Whenever we asked him about how he got the posting, he just says he "pulled strings" in the ranks. That always made us wonder just how high up he had friends.

He worked on base in Santa Monica, basically having a 9-5 job. When he got home he would take off the uniform and relax with us, enjoying civilian life. We teased him endlessly saying he was going soft.

"Dad, you count cans of _food_ all day!"  
He only ever replied with a wry smile or a chuckle, saying,  
"There's a bit more to it than that, I promise."

The higher-ups at base knew of his tactical expertise, though, occasionally having him stay there for a weekend to work on an op. He had the nous to at least _act_ sorry whenever he told us he had to stay longer, but he couldn't hide the layer of excitement that hid beneath his skin, coming out of his eyes, and in every action.

It sometimes felt like before, when he left us to return to duty. We knew he loved us, but he _missed_ serving. He couldn't _stand_ being out of the fight, any fight, especially if his company was engaged. The rare times he was home, he monitored the news like a hawk, trying to pick out details of what was happening overseas and wondering who was engaged where.

But he realized that _we_ needed him more this time. At least nowadays we don't have to worry about him not coming back. He's only an hour down the road when he's gone.

Despite the new responsibility he had, we all grated on each others' nerves, _especially_ Hesh and dad. The two were hotheads; they fought _constantly_; over the most trivial, petty things. I used to wonder where Hesh got his temper from, but ever since dad moved home, I don't _have _to. I found myself having to keep the peace between them _far _more often than I would like. I felt lost, and Hesh wouldn't even _talk_ to me like used to. We usually shared everything, but since dad had been home, we hardly spoke at all. It felt wrong, unnatural. The "arguments" were usually pretty one-sided, and went something like this:

"This is all _your_ fault! If you had just _been_ here, none of this would have happened! Mom was sick of it! She was sick of your _stupid_ job; she was sick of _you_. If you weren't off fighting your _stupid_ war, we would still have mom, and not _you_."

He practically spat that last bit, like it left a bad taste in his mouth, and then he would rant on for a few more minutes:

"I _hate_ you! What do you know? You don't _know _us. I wish you had just stayed in Israel! You're not our dad; dads are _there_ for their kids!"

Those fights were the hardest things for me to listen to. I earned myself many a black eye trying to get between them and calm him down. Hesh only stopped when he realized that he was hurting me, too, not just dad.

I don't really know _why_ we became so distant from each other. We just didn't _know_ him. He was never here. For as long as I could remember, dad only ever visited once in a blue moon. _Mom_ raised us, but then she betrayed us? And we live with a dad we barely know? It was one of the most confusing times of my life. I didn't know what to do, and honestly, I was more than a little scared. They were some of the worst months I've ever lived.

Until dad started… teaching us things. Now that I think about it, for those last years of high school, there wasn't a time when he _wasn't_ training us for something. It was like he was preparing us, or grooming us for an inevitable task that only _he_ knew. I don't know. I was just grateful for the edge it gave me when I joined the Army.

We already worked out in the mornings before school, so he didn't worry much about our physical ability, but when school let out, he started training us. It started with hand-to-hand combat. We beat on each other for hours at a time. Teaching us the moves and forms may or may not have been the best idea, though. Every day we learned something new, one of us would ambush the other, or sometimes tag team on dad. It always ended up in a broken _something_ (insert: chair, table, lamp, microwave, etc.) in the house.

Next he drilled us with firearms. The Army gave him quite the taste for guns, and we got to use two of his old M4s. He taught us all sorts of things. We practiced with them, quickly becoming proficient, and he made us do all our own maintenance, teaching us the ins and outs of the bolt carrier, how to change barrels, and the art of field stripping the rifle without getting dirt in every crevice while putting it back together. He drilled us with iron sights at any distance between fifty and four-hundred yards until our eyes watered from the focus. Then we practically couldn't see anything until we slept.

Weekends were special. He'd make us pack up, carrying minimal gear, and we would rough out the weekend in the middle of nowhere. Often, he taught us a new technique on the Saturday then turned us loose, telling us to go have fun with it and be back by dark. He taught us survival, stealth, the stalking of prey; we did a _lot_ of hunting (Deer are delicious, by the way. We had venison _steak,_ venison _burgers_, venison _roast_… you get the idea). At the end of the day, he told his war stories by firelight, all with a lesson to be learned. But later he'd let us crack jokes and we even laughed at his bad ones.

In the fall, when the chill crept back into the air, we grew mellow again, remembering what had happened not even a year ago, he took it up a notch. Everything got a lot _harder_. He started sending us out alone, and we never knew what to expect. Rest assured, you could live in fear all week with the thought, "What is dad planning _this_ time?"

It usually began with a short truck-drive to the woods, geared up and ready. He dropped us off and gave us one or two objectives. Sometimes we had to track him to a campsite, several other times we stalked deer, forced to get as close as ten yards before firing.

We enjoyed every second of it. We relished the challenge, and it felt _good_. Not to mention it was a distraction from… everything. The black hole left in mom's wake. Our complete lack of social lives. Having to learn to take care of ourselves and grow up just a little too fast.

It was _hard. Damn, _was it hard.

One mission is seared into my memory as a particular hell; the worst thing that ever happened to us during training. Dad dropped us in the middle of an unfamiliar area, and said he'd meet us back at the house. As simple as that. It was the middle of summer, the sweltering heat poured over us. With no water, and only our sidearms and a compass between us, we had to make our way back to the house. It started out fine: we found a creek and hydrated, filling our water bottles to hopefully last the day. It took a minute to get a bearing, but soon we were trekking north. We thought we were about six or seven miles out, not far at all, but as we hiked on, hour after hour without seeing any familiar turf, we decided to pick up the pace. We crossed a few more streams, refilled and rested for a few minutes. Jogging lightly through the woods (they call it the Ranger Shuffle), I think we crossed one or two small mountains.

The worst thing that happened was when we were jogging along a ridge and Hesh got his feet tangled in some tree roots. He face-planted, sliding halfway down the crest before stopping. When I caught up to him, his foot looked twisted at an odd angle, and he couldn't put weight on it without hissing or grimacing in pain. So we hobbled, me helping him hop along. Hesh took it like a champ, but there was no way he could weasel out of the new nickname he earned himself: hop-a-long.

After a while, I began to recognize the woods around us… as the four mile point where we often hunted. Long since out of water, and a semi-conscious Hesh over my shoulders, I trudged the last few miles to the house. It was well after nightfall when we made it to our backyard, and I barely even made it inside before collapsing in a heap.

Everything after that is a muddled blur in my memory. Dad scooped up Hesh in an instant and guided me over to the couch. After that I blacked out. I woke the next morning, sprawled over the cushions and comfy under a blanket. As much as I didn't want to, I knew I had to get up, to give dad a piece of my mind. As I slowly rose from the couch, muscle after knotted muscle protested all over my legs and back, and I decided that movement could wait five more minutes. Then I noticed all my gear in a pile on the floor next to me, a note on top of the stack saying that dad had taken Hesh to see a doctor.

When they got back I was _**so**__ pissed_. It didn't help that he later told me that the drop point had been twenty-six miles from the house. I was ready to rip him a new one, my own dad, but fortunately the logical side of my brain won out. He couldn't have known all that would happen. That we'd come back exhausted, injured, and dehydrated. Behind his eyes I saw that he was sorry. Even still, I didn't speak to him for a week after that.

And it didn't keep him from pushing us harder and harder.

But it was how we bonded. As crazy as it sounds, we _wanted_ this. The challenges cemented us together. Hesh and I became tough, lean, and strong. No one would ever call me chubby again. We coordinated as a team, working as one, speaking without saying anything. Yeah, it was hard, and the training and challenges hurt like _hell_, but we embraced the pain. Our social lives suffered, but we didn't care.

Hesh and I would joke, "We don't have _friends,_" and when dad commented that we had each other, we would protest, "We're not _friends_. We're _brothers_."

Brothers. Far closer than two friends could ever be.

Every time we came out of the woods and trudged up to the house, Dad asked us what we learned. The answer was always the same:

_Guard each other. Cover your brother's back._

It's the most important lesson I've ever learned, and one I'll never forget.

* * *

Hesh should have known better than to read on his first day back in the field. The journal just fit so neatly into his cargo pocket. He should have known better than to bring it with him: it only distracted him from the task at hand. He had finally managed to pull himself half out of the emotional grave he was digging, only to find that the Ghosts' new AO wasn't going to be as welcoming as it usually was. Hesh could _always_ rely on a mission in the field to distract him from whatever was on his mind, but as he lay silently under the canopy of trees, scanning the compound through his sniper scope, his thoughts wandered of their own free will. Quiet missions made everything go wrong in his head.

The pages that he'd read seemed to side-scroll across his vision, blocking out his view of the target area. He scrunched his eyes closed and blinked rapidly, clearing the words away. They still hovered at the corners, swarming and waiting to fill him with grief once more.

Why was Logan's journal so haunting?

A small, dark, and broken part of him just wanted to _forget_, to let go of all the thoughts and memories that were damaging him. Worse, to push away the little brother who had always followed him. Growing up, everywhere he went, he was never without his shadow. Logan loved him to the point where he would follow him through hell and back; he _had_, in fact. His presence was so constant that Hesh had begun to take him for granted. But then all at a second's notice, they were torn apart, and Hesh was left to remember all the times when he could have shown Logan the he loved _him_ too, could have shown him how _proud_ he was. Nothing big, just a pat on the back, or a small smile and a, "Good job" or a well-deserved, "Thanks."

_Thanks for standing by me. Thanks for having my back. Thanks for _saving_ my _life_._

He owed Logan so much, but he'd never actually _thanked_ him. He got to count, over and over, the times when he'd let those opportunities slip through his fingers. Now he might never get them back.

That small, dark, and broken part of him reared its head. He hated him_self_ for hating that Logan was a _perfect_ little brother. He didn't grow close to many, but the few whom he let into his inner circle, he loved purely, innocently, almost blindly; and Hesh could say without conceit that Logan saw him above anyone else. It was a fact of their relationship.

The demon in his head wanted to forget Logan entirely, because at least then he wouldn't _hurt_ anymore. He wouldn't feel all this guilt and sorrow. He wouldn't have to worry about what Rorke was doing to his brother. Wouldn't have to wonder if he'd ever see him again. After fifteen days, there had been no intel, not even a whisper of him from the Feds. For all the Ghosts knew he might be dead already.

No. He couldn't think like that. He would _not_ give up; he couldn't do that. The small, dark recess in his mind could never oust one command, one thought that had been with him all of his life:

_ Take care of your brother._

No power in the world could make him forget, because he was _so __**proud **_of his little brother. His little brother, who, he'd had to admit, he didn't want to join the Army because it meant he might not always be there to look out for him. Who he waited for, so they could be in the same flight at basic training. Who he'd argued with over MOS's for a _week_ before they agreed on one, just because they didn't want to be split up after BCT. Hesh had very few memories that _didn't_ involve Logan in some way, and the few that didn't have _him_, were memories of dad, the good _and_ the bad. He could never forget them, and he mentally slapped himself for ever thinking that he might betray either of them.

He hadn't been able to save dad. He hadn't even gotten the chance to say goodbye.

That would _not_ happen with Logan. He wouldn't let it. He could never leave him behind. If their roles were reversed, Logan would _never_ abandon _him_; there was no way in hell he would leave him out there, alone and scared.

"I've got a visual. FLIR shows three tangos in the target building. One of those is our HVT." At the voice of their drone operator, Hesh snapped his eyes out of their trance and focused on the target in his scope, peering at the drizzle-streaked thermal image.

"Roger that. Breach team is set." Kick spoke over the line and Hesh saw two figures, Kick and one of the new guys, at the edge of the compound, preparing to vault the chain-link fence. Their forms flickered every second or so, deformed by the feedback from their IR strobes. They had their work cut out for them if they were going to sneak in, take down the target, and sneak him out again.

"Check. Kick, Hicks, move to secure the package. Hesh, you're weapons free. Clear them a path." Merrick directed the operatives, and Hesh lined up his sights on a lone guard, patrolling the perimeter near the breaching team. He pulled the trigger, grateful to finally have a _real_ distraction from his own mind. The body dropped like a rock, clearing the sector for Kick and… what was his name, Hicks?

Hesh watched the two Green Berets slip through the compound like specters, only pausing to avoid or take down the guards. He popped off more rounds, keeping the area clear ahead of the team. They moved fast; Kick took point, creeping up to a corner of the central complex building. On the other side, three patrolmen clustered idly around a burn barrel, sharing a smoke.

"Kick, heads up. You got three tangos around that corner." He alerted the two to the group's presence and started to line up his rifle on the furthest away of the three. A softly muttered "Roger" was his only reply for a moment as the guys moved into position to eliminate the other two. Kick positioned himself at the corner and held up three fingers for Hesh to see.

"On three." To the side, he saw Kick point out to Hicks the man he was to kill. After seeing his acknowledgement, Hesh steadied his aim over the farthest guard.

"One."

_Inhale. _

"Two."

_Exhale._

"Three." Near-simultaneously, the three men acted.

_Near_.

Hesh pulled the trigger, earning a clean headshot. Kick sprang out and plunged his knife in the throat of his man. Hicks acted a moment too late; he didn't take down his target fast enough. He lunged with his knife, but the act was too slow, too late. The Fed was opening his mouth to sound an alarm; another second and it would be out.

Hesh watched it in horror. But he didn't watch helplessly. His arms moved as if under their own power. One slow-motion second and his barrel had already shifted an inch; his finger had already put pressure on the trigger. The second bullet flew true and the third guard dropped, not two seconds after the others.

The two ground ops stood absolutely still for a shocked second. Kick was the first to snap out of it, and he moved to breach.

"Shit, that was close." Hicks braced himself on the other side of the door.

"What the hell was _that_!?"  
"What the _hell_ was that?!"

Hesh and Hicks spoke at the same time, one yelling over the comm, and the other trying to maintain a semblance of stealth on the ground.

"I had him! You don't have to do my job _for_ me!"  
"That was the sloppiest takedown I've ever seen! You're lucky you have me on overwatch!"

"You think you ladies could scrap this out later? We're in the middle of something, here!" Kick hissed over his mike, trying to verbally smack sense into the two newbies.

"Roger that."  
"Yes, mom."

Hesh groaned inwardly. This mission couldn't be over soon enough.


End file.
